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-• • - 

AV - 22 5] APPLETONS’ [5 ° " x 
Town and Country Library 

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A SOLDIER 

OF MANHATTAN 


AND MIS ADVENTURES AT 
TICONDEROGA AND QUEBEC 

By JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 

AUTHOR OF THE SUN OF SARATOGA 



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Bppletons’ 
XTown an& Country 
DLtbrarp 

No. 225 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

The Sun of Saratoga* 

A Romance of Burgoyne’s Surrender. 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 50 cts. 


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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 


A SOLDIER OF 
MAN H ATTAN 


AND HIS ADVENTURES AT 
TICONDEROGA AND QUEBEC 


BY 


JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 

AUTHOR OF THE SUN OF SARATOGA 




NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
1897 


> 



Copyright, 1897, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


TO REPLACE LOST COPT 





CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — A QUESTION OF MERIT I 

II. — An unsought interview io 

III. — A GLIMPSE OF THE GENERAL . . . . ig 

IV. — The fashion of New York .... 29 

V. — Enter the major 45 

VI. — A passage at arms 59 

VII. — Loudoun’s way of making war ... 72 

VIII. — A feast and a storm 82 

IX. — The result of a trial 101 

X. — A MORNING SURPRISE 114 

XI. — A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT 122 

XII. — In the general’s tent 142 

XIII. — The lone warrior 149 

XIV. — A SUDDEN ENCOUNTER 1 56 

XV. — The assault 164 

XVI. — A PRISONER OF THE FRENCH . . . . 1 72 

XVII. — An arrival in Quebec 183 

XVIII. — A FIGHT FOR A KINGDOM I92 

XIX. — A RIVAL APPEARS 203 

XX. — The sound of the guns 213 

XXI. — Out of the chateau 224 

XXII. — Through the gate 234 


v 


VI 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN, 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII. — Under the right flag again .... 244 

XXIV. — A compromise 253 

XXV. — The battle of Montmorency .... 261 

XXVI. — A RACE FOR A RESCUE 2^2 

XXVII. — Mlle. de St. Maur’s preference . . .284 

XXVIII. — On the Plains of Abraham .... 300 
XXIX. — The will of God 314 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

A QUESTION OF MERIT. 

I was Lieutenant Edward Charteris, of a very 
good family in the city of New York, and I saw no 
reason why I should take his insolence. 

“ There was Braddock,” I said, putting a queen 
upon the table. 

His eyes were bent down upon his cards, and his 
cheeks were too ruddy to flush much. How red these 
English are ! 

“ It was a cheat,” he said, taking the trick with his 
king. “ We are not foxes to lie hid in thickets and 
forests and wait there for victims.” 

“ But in a country of thickets and forests one must 
learn to do it nevertheless, or he has no right to. com- 
plain when he loses,” I said. 

The trick was mine this time, and I stacked the 
captured cards neatly before me. We had been speak- 
ing of Fort William Henry and the great disaster 
there. 

“ You can’t talk, gentlemen, and play the game 
too; we are not women,” said Culverhouse, who wished 
to prevent a quarrel. 

Culverhouse was my friend. Unlike most Eng- 
lishmen, he did not seek to patronize us who were of 
the colonies, merely because we were of the coloniesj 


2 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


but I had no mind to be put down, and I kept my at- 
tention fixed upon Spencer. 

“ Promise is not performance,” he said, leading 
with an ace. “ You Americans criticise us much, but 
what have you in your turn done against the French? ” 

“ There was Dieskau’s defeat at Lake George, our 
one victory of the war — a victory that saved Albany 
and nobody knows what else,” I said, following his 
lead. 

“ Sir William Johnson won that,” he said, curling 
his upper lip a little. “ An Englishman by birth, I 
believe.” 

“ An Irishman,” I said, “ and he spent the day in 
his tent. His soldiers, who were Americans, won the 
battle. They did the fighting, not Sir William.” 

The loungers in the coffeehouse had been listening 
attentively. One of them hummed: 

“ Their Dieskau we from them detain, 

While Canada aloud complains 
And counts the numbers of their slain 
And makes a dire complaint.” 

It was the beginning of a bad verse — not much 
rhyme in it that I could ever see — but it was very 
popular in our time, and it fit the case. 

“Attend to the game, gentlemen!” said Graham, 
the Scotchman, who made the fourth of our party, a 
hare-brained fellow, but, like Culverhouse, not want- 
ing a quarrel just then. “ You are lagging in your 
play.” 

The loungers in the coffeehouse had formed a 
circle around us at the sound of our words, which be- 
tokened a possible quarrel, and loungers love a quarrel 
in which they are not concerned. I was sorry for the 
moment I had come into the place, though I had not 
expected such an issue of it. Mynheer Steenwyck, 


A QUESTION OF MERIT. 


3 


our host, looked anxious, as if he feared for the fate of 
his bottles and tankards, and rubbed his fat Dutch chin 
uneasily. Through the window which faced me I 
could see the merchants of Hanover Square, many 
with their coats off, busy among their bales and pack- 
ages, which half blocked the street. Perhaps, after 
all, it is they and not the generals who make a coun- 
try great. 

“ Lieutenant Charteris has accused the English 
soldiers,” said Spencer, as if justifying himself to his 
brother officers. 

“ Lieutenant Spencer first accused the American 
soldiers,” I said. 

“ And yet the English have come over here to de- 
fend the Americans,” said Spencer, raising his voice 
a little. . 

“ May Heaven defend us from our defenders, so I 
have heard Mr. Oliver de Lancey say when they tried 
to billet the soldiers upon him,” I replied. 

Spencer’s eyes sparkled with anger, and he was 
preparing to make a fierce reply; but Culverhouse, 
still in the role of peacemaker, spoke first. 

“ It seems to me,” he said, “ that both English 
and Americans who serve the same King should be 
the best of friends and allies. Of a certainty the French 
have given enough for both to do so far. You are a 
soldier of the King, Lieutenant Spencer, and so are 
you, Lieutenant Charteris.” 

Whether his words would have stopped us I do not 
know, but at that moment I heard cries outside. I 
had heard a hum or distant murmur before, but paid 
no attention, thinking it was the ordinary noise of a 
busy town such as ours. Now it was much nearer and 
louder. 

“ I think it is a street? affray, and perhaps a serious 
"one,” cried Culverhouse, seizing the opportunity to 


4 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


put a stop to our affair. “ Come, gentlemen, we will 
see what it is! ” 

He grasped me by the arm and half dragged me to 
the door. Any suspicion of my courage was saved, as 
the others, incited by curiosity, came too. The loun- 
gers crowded after us. 

A crowd of men and boys, many of villainous look, 
had gathered about a man and a woman in the street 
and were shouting at them curses and other abuse as 
bad. 

“ Stone the French spy! Kill him! ” they cried. 

I could see over the crowd the head of the man 
whom they threatened. A face almost as dark as that 
of an Indian, but the darkness of weather, and not of 
nature, a fierce, curved nose, blue eyes, and very black 
hair — the whole a leonine countenance. He looked 
disdainfully at the crowd, and said something in the 
French tongue. Though I understood the language, 
I did not catch the words. The men and boys around 
him continued their abuse. I understood the trouble 
at once. We were very bitter then against the French, 
who, with their Indian allies, had committed many 
atrocities upon our border people. 

A boy stooped, picked up a stone, and made ready 
to hurl it at the Frenchman. I sprang into Jdie street and 
knocked the missile from his hand. Then I drew my 
sword and ordered the mob to scatter, illustrating the 
command with several flourishes of the weapon. Un- 
armed men do not like the naked edge of a sword, and 
they fell back to a respectful distance, giving us a full 
view of the Frenchman and his companion, whom I 
guessed at once to be his daughter. She had the same 
black hair and blue eyes, which is in woman, I think, 
a combination as striking and beautiful as it is rare. 
But where his face was as dark as leather, hers was 
as fair as the white rose. 


A QUESTION OF MERIT. 5 

While I was looking at her, the Frenchman was 
thanking me, though with much dignity. 

I introduced myself briefly in the French lan- 
guage as Lieutenant Edward Charteris, of the King’s 
army. 

“ I am Raymond de St. Maur, of Quebec,” he said, 
“ and this is my daughter, Mile. Louise de St. Maur.” 

I bowed, and she returned my bow in much the 
same manner as her father. The incident had brought 
a very bright flush into her cheeks, but I could not say 
that she showed fright. I said with the politeness of 
our times that it was a happiness and honor for me to 
have served them so opportunely. 

“ Is it one of the chief duties of your officers to 
protect guests from your own citizens?” asked M. de 
St. Maur, not at all moved by my compliment. 

I did not reply directly, but introduced Culver- 
house and the others, who had followed up my attack 
upon the mob. We offered to escort them to their 
house or wherever they might be going. 

“ We are the guests of Mr. Kennedy, your towns- 
man,” said Mile, de St. Maur, speaking for her father, 
and showing more graciousness than he, “ and will 
thank you to protect us on our way there.” 

M. de St. Maur, though yet very haughty of coun- 
tenance, did not refuse the offered escort. The mob 
had gone farther down the square, but had not dis- 
appeared. 

I led the way. I knew the Kennedy mansion very 
well, and likewise its owner, Archibald Kennedy, who, 
as all the world has heard, married Ann, Robert Watt’s 
handsome daughter, and became the Earl of Cassilis. 
Noticing that the old man and the girl looked around 
them with great curiosity, I began to point out the 
buildings of interest and note, in which our city 
abounds, if I do say it myself, and led them a some- 


6 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


what devious way that I might prolong the journey, 
for I will admit that this French girl with the blue eyes 
and black hair attracted me much. 

I took them by the Royal Exchange, a spacious 
and noble structure completed but two years before, 
and showed them the merchants and factors passing in 
such numbers and importance through the arcades 
that one might think it was London itself, so great 
had grown the trade of our port. 

I had friends there — my own family is not so bad 
— and an attendant took us up to the noble Long 
Room, where the great dinners and entertainments 
are given. Then we passed out under the arcades and 
again through the busy press of merchants. I de- 
scribed some of them, and told to what an amazing 
extent their operations had grown, how they bought 
furs and skins from the most distant Indians, even 
from those around the farthest of the Great Lakes, 
how they carried on a fine trade with the West Indies, 
and what a traffic passed between us and England, 
and how we had even begun to build ships. 

“ Can you show such merchants as those in Que- 
bec?” I asked of M. de St. Maur, making no effort 
to conceal my pride in our city’s opulence. 

“ No, but we can show better soldiers,” he replied 
with some dryness, as in truth he had a right to do, 
since the French, on the whole, had been beating us 
most lamentably. 

But he had no criticism to make upon the noble 
spire of St. George’s Chapel, which, I hear, will com- 
pare very favorably with the great spires of Europe, 
and of which we are justly proud. Moreover, I long 
enjoyed the acquaintance of its rector, that distin- 
guished and pious man, the Rev. Henry Barclay, 
who married the daughter of Anthony Rutgers. 

I also showed them our first engine house, which 


A QUESTION OF MERIT. 


7 


was thought to be a marvel in its way, very few people 
having dreamed that such an ingenious contrivance for 
putting out destructive fires was possible. It was near 
twenty years old then, and stood in Broad Street, next 
to the watchhouse. I think the seigneur was some- 
what puzzled by the engines, as, in fact, I was a bit 
myself, but neither of us said so. 

I showed them our notable market just above the 
ferry across the Hudson, where the people came over 
from the Jerseys, and where the line of wagons filled 
with the produce of the farms was sometimes a full 
eighth of a mile in length. 

I succeeded so well in monopolizing the conversa- 
tion of Mile, de St. Maur, who showed a pretty 
wit and much knowledge, that Culverhouse and the 
others began to frown at me and seek my place. But 
I held my own, and continued to talk to mademoiselle, 
pointing out this place and that, until we reached the 
house of Mr. Kennedy, a noble mansion on Broad- 
way, very wide and handsome of front, with a splendid 
carved doorway in the center. 

The seigneur, who I perceived had learned the 
stoicism of the Indians, would not allow himself to 
be impressed by anything, or at least he would not 
permit the appearance of it. He looked very closely 
about him, but there was no expression upon his 
strong, brown face. But when they walked up the 
stoop of Mr. Kennedy’s house, and he turned to dis- 
miss us, he thanked us again with that fine, large 
courtesy which we associate with the great French 
seigneur. 

“ A Norman, I think,” said Culverhouse as we 
walked away together, Spencer and Graham having 
bid us adieu and gone in another direction. 

I thought so too. It seemed fitting to me that his 
great stature and eagle face should belong to the race 


8 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


which took England and gave it the blood of which it 
boasts the loudest. Which stock on the French side, 
I may add, also has given us the most trouble. 

“ What is he, and what is he doing here? ” I asked 
of Culverhouse, who knew the gossip of the town, 
while I had arrived but recently from duty at Albany. 

“ He is one of the great seigneurs of Canada,” re- 
plied Culverhouse, “ and he has come here on behalf 
of Montcalm to treat with Loudoun for an exchange of 
prisoners. The earl having finished his cabbage plant- 
ing at Halifax, may now be able to attend somewhat 
to the war.” 

Culverhouse spoke with bitterness. Never was 
there a greater laggard than our commander in chief, 
and it was as galling to the English officers, his breth- 
ren, as it was to us, whom he said he came to protect. 
The earl was but a day back from Halifax, where he 
had nobly earned the title of cabbage planter, and we 
were wondering what garden he would cultivate next. 
Coming back from Halifax, when off the Massachu- 
setts shore, he had received a message from Governor 
Shirley, sent out in a small boat, giving the dreadful 
news from William Henry. So he had arrived in New 
York, telling, ere his foot had scarce touched the land- 
ing, of the terrible things he was going to have done 
to M. Montcalm, how he had sent a message to Webb 
to chase the impudent Frenchman back to Canada, 
and how he was expecting even then to hear that his 
general had destroyed the French army. 

After Culverhouse’s little outburst we were silent, 
thinking of our campaign, which had little cheer for 
us despite the earl’s magnificent promises, and when 
Culverhouse left me I went to my lodgings, where 
my thoughts ranged from the war to Mile, de St. 
Maur’s blue eyes and Marion Arthur’s brown ones, 
and then back to the blue. I was wondering that very 


A QUESTION OF MERIT. 


9 


morning if I were about to fall in love with Marion 
Arthur. Never having been in love before, I could 
not be sure. I had often noted the symptoms in others, 
but I have also observed that a doctor who may be 
very skilled in the diseases of others knows little about 
his own. But Marion and I had been comrades in 
childhood, for she was my cousin, though three times 
removed. 


CHAPTER II. 


AN UNSOUGHT INTERVIEW. 

I was in the midst of such thoughts and surmises 
when John Smoot came and told me that his master, 
Mr. Arthur, wished to see me. John’s manner was 
darkly important, and I guessed that the business 
which Mr. Arthur wished to have with me would not 
be of a very soothing nature. Some strain in our rela- 
tions had appeared long since, and it was increased by 
his suspicion that I sought Marion for a wife— a sus- 
picion and a dissent that were very far from keeping 
me from her. Even before that morning I would stop 
and wonder if in truth I were about to fall in love with 
her, and then I would cease to study the problem and 
leave its solution to the future. But I was compelled 
to admit that she was very fair. There was no girl of 
the de Lanceys, or the de Peysters, or the Living- 
stons, or the Philipses, or the Kennedys, or the Col- 
dens, or of all the boasted beauties of our town, who 
could surpass her. 

Moreover, it was a matter of common repute in 
New York that Mr. Arthur looked for something 
beyond the colonies for his daughter. His father had 
been born in the old country, and he had been sent 
there himself to be educated and to receive the Eng- 
lish stamp, his aptness at the learning being so great 
that he had ever remained a mighty stickler for the 
glory and the grandeur and the ways of England. He 

IO 


AN UNSOUGHT INTERVIEW. 


1 1 


affected sometimes to cheapen his own country and the 
people who were his countrymen, which caused many 
ill remarks to be made about him, for we had begun 
,to raise our heads in America. There were so many 
officers of high rank and noble birth coming over 
then from Britain to engage in the great war with the 
French that I was quite sure Mr. Arthur would seek to 
make an engagement between his daughter and one of 
them. He placed high value upon rank, and his wealth 
was sufficient to prepare the way for an alliance of 
that kind. That he had some such thought in his mind 
when he sent for me I did not doubt. 

Bidding John to tell him that I would be there 
speedily, I prepared for the interview, arranging my 
toilet with great care, which I hold always to be the 
duty of a gentleman. 

I wore my new uniform of the Royal Americans, 
which was a very pretty affair, and confidence in one’s 
clothes imparts great strength to the backbone. So I 
went on, walking with a martial stride, and swinging 
my sword until I made it jingle gallantly in its scab- 
bard. 

The front part of Mr. Arthur’s establishment was 
used as a warehouse. There was a great muck of 
boxes and barrels about, and a dozen stout fellows 
were at work among them. It was said that Mr. Ar- 
thur, when the times were more given to peace, sent 
every year a rich store of goods into the Spanish and 
French West India Islands, contrary to the laws and 
regulations of their Catholic Majesties, the august sov- 
ereigns of Spain and France. But that was not a 
matter about which I bothered myself, nor in truth 
did any one else, for no merchant in the town was 
held to be a more respectable man than Mr. Arthur, 
who had acquired in the course of many years a great 
fortune and a most acrid port-wine temper. 

2 


12 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


I asked for Mr. Arthur, and one of the fellows, with 
undue curtness, I thought, when my fhartial appear- 
ance is considered, directed me to the office in the 
rear. 

Mr. Arthur was writing at his desk. Two candles, 
burning directly in front of him, for the twilight comes 
early in our latitudes, heightened the ruddy tints of 
his face and deepened the lines about his mouth. Re- 
membering that if he had anything disagreeable to 
say it might be well to let him know that I was pre- 
pared, I jingled my sword again. The sound aroused 
him from his task, as well it might, for it was a most 
military clatter. He turned around and looked at me 
in a very critical manner. I kept my hand upon my 
sword and expanded my chest somewhat, but Mr. Ar- 
thur did not seem to be very much impressed. 

“Ah! it is Master Edward Charteris, I believe,” 
he said in an exceedingly dry tone. 

“ It is,” I replied, “ and I am now a lieutenant in 
the army of his Britannic Majesty.” 

As I said this I jingled my sword for the third time 
and threw my shoulders very far back, in order to keep 
myself from looking that degree of littleness which I 
felt. I liked not his manner at all. It was patronizing, 
which I resented, for our branch of the family, though 
not as well sugared with riches as his, was as good 
and of equal repute in all the country. 

But my bearing, which I thought Marion — and 
the new French girl, too, for that matter — would have 
admired, seemed to have no effect upon this crusty old 
merchant. Accordingly, I stood upon my dignity, 
and waited in silence to hear what he might have to 
say. 

“ I inferred from your apparel,” he said in a tone 
of some satire, “ that you had become an officer in 
the service of our King. Be sure that you wear worthi- 


AN UNSOUGHT INTERVIEW. 


3 


ly the livery of his Majesty, our most gracious sover- 
eign” 

“ I do not need that advice,” I said with a little 
heat. I had heard so much of our most gracious sov- 
ereign recently that I was growing tired of him and his 
graciousness. 

“ It is just as well to give it,” he replied. “ All 
young men are the better for good counsel, though 
they may not relish it in the telling.” 

I felt an increase of resentment. But I was under 
some obligations to him. He was my nearest relative 
left alive, and perhaps I owed a little to his care, though 
I doubted not, knowing his nature, that he had made 
a good profit out of it. So I said nothing. 

“ I sent for you,” he said, “ because I have heard 
something about you to-day.” 

“ Nothing to my discredit, I hope,” I said lightly. 

“ Something very much to your discredit,” he said 
with great gravity of manner. “ I hear that you have 
been insulting the officers of the King in a coffeehouse, 
and even fastening a quarrel upon them. I hear also 
that you have spoken in the most disloyal manner of 
our noble sovereign and the generals whom he has 
sent over to protect us from the French and their 
allies.” 

I haven’t much reverence for kings; I have never 
been able to discover in all my reading of history that 
they deserve it. I cared little, therefore, for his charge 
of disloyalty, but I felt the flush of anger when he 
accused me of forcing a quarrel upon the British of- 
ficers when I believed that I had been in the right. I 
said as much, telling him that some one had brought 
him a false report. I added, moreover, that I would 
not be patronized by any Englishman, nor did I think 
that any one in the colonies should so humble him- 
self. 


14 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ Ah! ” he said, speaking more slowly than before; 
“ I have heard much lately about the fine airs the peo- 
ple in the colonies are giving themselves. It seems 
that what I have heard is true.” 

“ You are one of us yourself,” I replied. 

“ By the accident of birth, yes,” he said, and his 
heightened tones showed that my shaft had touched 
a tender spot, “ but in spirit, no. I have always ac- 
counted myself an Englishman born on a foreign 
shore, and I shall return to the land which nourished 
my ancestors. I intend that my daughter shall marry 
there.” 

I had nothing to say to these declarations, which 
he made with some pomposity of manner. His allu- 
sion to his daughter and my silence seemed to bring 
him back to the main subject which he had in mind 
when he sent for me. 

“ I wished to speak to you of two things, Lieutenant 
Charteris,” he said; “one is your deportment toward 
the officers from England, which is offensive to me, 
and the other is in regard to my daughter. You and 
she of necessity have been thrown much together, 
and the liking between you must go no further. As I 
said, I shall make a home in England, and I intend 
that my daughter shall marry there. I warn you for 
your own benefit.” 

This was plain speaking to a certainty. I was 
not aware, as I have said, that I was in love with 
Marion, though there had been some little gossip 
in the town that it would be a fitting match. I 
scarce knew whether to be angry or amused. I 
resolved to draw him out, and see what further he 
had to say. 

“ Then you object to me because I am not an Eng- 
lishman?” I said. 

“ That is one among my several reasons/' 


AN UNSOUGHT INTERVIEW. 1 5 

“ At least, I shall never try to become an English- 
man.” 

“ Let us be grateful that we are spared that much 
wasted effort.” 

“ Nor would I become one if I could. I shall re- 
main true to my own country.” 

“ Your high-flown sentiments sound very well in 
the mouth of a young man, but we can dispense with 
them at present.” 

“ You are bent upon having Marion marry among 
the English?” I asked. 

“ And what if I am? ” he asked sharply. 

“ She might prefer one of her countrymen,” I 
said. 

“ I trust that she has judgment and discretion,” he 
replied. 

I would have been very humble indeed not to be 
angered by his sneers at me and my countrymen, and 
as I turned to leave I could not refrain from discharg- 
ing an arrow at him. 

“ Do not forget one thing, Mr. Arthur,” I said, 
“ though you may call yourself an Englishman, the 
English themselves will never call you such.” 

His countenance fell a little, but in a moment he 
said, without any change of tone: 

“ I bid you good day, Master Charteris. I wish 
you a noble career in the King’s service.” 

I made no reply, but left full of wrath at his high 
and haughty treatment of me, as I believe I had a right 
to be. I was thinking angrily about this, and such 
was my state of mind that I failed to notice where I 
was walking after I reached the street, and nearly ran 
over one of our townsmen. He brought me to myself 
with a jerk, and peered into my face by the light of 
one of the street lanterns that hung near. 

“ It’s Master Edward Charteris, eh?” he said; 


16 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ prowling about and trying to run down decent citi- 
zens in the street! I took you at first, with your fine 
uniform and clanking sword, to be one of those young 
Hotspurs from over seas, who talk so much and do 
so little. But perhaps such as you have been cor- 
rupted by them with their swaggering airs and loud 
oaths.” 

It was Master Martin Groot, a most respectable 
man, with a fine soul for a bargain, but an inveterate 
grumbler. I made my apologies in the best style I 
could command, and would have gone on, but he held 
to my arm. 

“ There is no occasion for hurry, lad/’ he said. “ I 
forgive you for running over me, for I verily believe 
you did not see where you were, going. Your uniform 
is very fine — a pretty sum it must have cost! — and be- 
comes you, but there is trouble in your face. What 
is it, lad? Is it something about these gay English 
cock-sparrows, who are always going to beat the 
French, and who are always getting beaten?” 

“ No,” I said hastily, and somewhat impatiently, 
“ I have no trouble at all, Master Martin.” 

“ I don’t believe you,” he said bluntly. “ Two-and- 
twenty does not have such a face as that for nothing.” 

A sympathetic tone in the man’s voice kept me 
from being angry. But I could not tell him what 
really ailed me. I was not sure that it was anything. 
I made an evasive reply. I was worried about the 
war, I said. I wondered why we shilly-shallied so 
long in New York instead of going to the front and 
displaying the same activity that was so characteristic 
of our enemies, and which accounted for their notable 
successes. 

“ That may or may not be,” he said, a doubtful look 
on his broad face. “ But I never knew the fate of a 
campaign to rest with such mighty weight upon one 


AN UNSOUGHT INTERVIEW. 17 

so young before. I am a peaceful man, and even a 
man of wisdom, Master Charteris, a trader in search 
of gain, not glory; but, now that you wear the King’s 
uniform, I give you a warning. Beware of the officers 
who have been sent over seas to help us and but de- 
spise us. An idle, empty, and worthless set. They 
corrupt our youth with their drinkings and their dan- 
cings and their debaucheries, and do not protect our 
borders from the French. The land were well rid 
of them ! ” 

He took his grip from my arm and let me pass. 
My wearing of the King’s uniform had caused me to 
receive two warnings within the hour, and it was not 
difficult for me to say which was the kindlier of the 
two. But I thought that Groot went to extremities. 
He was always a dogmatic man. Nor did he love the 
English any the more because he had no English blood 
in his veins. He was overfond of saying that'his Dutch 
forefathers should have held New Amsterdam, in which 
I did not agree with him, for I could respect the lib- 
erty and might of England without cheapening mine 
own country. 

I suppose it was perversity, but, having been 
warned not to pay my addresses to Marion, I decided 
that I would call upon the maiden. 

I walked briskly toward Mr. Arthur’s fine house 
in Queen Street, near the mansions of William Walton 
and Abraham de Peyster, which have been considered 
worthy of much praise, and found Marion in the rose 
garden. 

“You have something to tell me!” she said with 
a pert air. I dare say a look of importance was upon 
my face. 

“ Of a certainty,” I said lightly. “ Your father has 
just told me that he intends for you to marry an Eng- 
lishman. He did not say that he preferred one with a 


1 8 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

title, but he hinted as much. He wants you to be ‘ my 
lady/ with a train of servants and a husband who can 
take you to court.” 

“ That would be famous,” said Marion, a gratified 
look showing on her pretty countenance. “ Truly it 
would, to have many servants and to go to court. Oh, 
I should like so dearly to go to court ! ” 

I was a little piqued, though I was far from having 
the right to feel so. It was not for me to dictate her 
preferences. 

“ So you would like to be a great lady?” I asked. 

“In truth, I would!” she exclaimed. “What 
woman would not? ” 

I knew of none, and I turned the talk to the fash- 
ions and festivities of the day, of which we had great 
plenty in New York, and at the end of an agreeable 
hour I left, sure that her crusty old father would have 
been very wrathful had he known that directly after 
receiving his warning I had gone to see his daughter. 
There was pleasure in the thought. I am not ashamed 
of it; therefore I admit it. 


CHAPTER III. 


A GLIMPSE OF THE GENERAL. 

But when I was in the street alone my mind re- 
turned to more serious things, and my spirits fell 
again. I regretted the quarrel with Spencer, for it was 
like to be renewed, though as sure as ever that I had 
been in the right. 

Not wishing to return just then to my quarters, I 
strolled about in the cool of the evening. Ours always 
had been a lively town, but the turmoil of the war and 
the presence of the soldiery and the dignitaries had 
caused an exceeding great bustle lately. The arrival 
of night scarce served to diminish it. The number 
of street lanterns had been doubled, and the number of 
night watchmen, too, for that matter, as the coming 
of the soldiers caused much disorder, and there had 
been many broils. It was only the other day that I had 
heard some of our most respected burghers complain^ 
ing of the bad effect the presence of the military had 
on public morals. 

There was a crowd in the streets, and soldiers were 
straying about the Battery. Several of the military 
people showed signs of intoxication. I wondered at 
this laxity of discipline, for I had read much in the 
books about the art of war, and I found them all 
agreed that strict rules and an enforced obedience to 
them were the ingredients of success. Now when I 
was confronted with the reality, I found the difference 
19 


20 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


between it and what I had expected so great that I 
was puzzled to account for it. Nor did it comfort me 
to observe two or three of our own New York sol- 
diers among the roisterers. I thought that at a time 
when our arms had experienced such ill success every- 
where it would be mightily gratifying to the home 
people for our own colonial soldiers to set a good ex- 
ample. 

Two soldiers approached me. One was in the uni- 
form of the British grenadiers. The other wore the 
dress of a New York regiment. They had their arms 
about each other’s shoulders, and they were reeling 
along the path. I do not know whether they embraced 
because of drunken affection or to keep from falling 
down in a lump. As they drew near me they began to 
sing a ribald camp song. 

I stepped back into the shadow of some trees, as I 
did not wish to be annoyed by drunken men. But my 
movement was too late. The gleam of my uniform 
caught the Englishman’s eye. 

“’Elio!” he cried. “A horficer! Come, horficer, 
and ’ave a drink with us! ” 

“ Yes,” said the American, “ come and join ’Meri- 
can and English soldiers and gentlemen. Treat you 
as if you were the King himself. You’re an officer, 
but we’re not proud. We’ll drink with you, and let 
you pay the score ! ” 

“ Pass on ! ” I said in disgust. “ I will report you 
to your regiments, and you will both be lucky if you 
escape the cat o’ nine tails.” 

“What a horficer ’e is!” exclaimed the English- 
man, pretending to be very much frightened, “ and 
’ow ’e used to set the French and the Haustrians and 
the Dons a-running! One look at ’im was enough for 
’em. General, we gives you our best compliments, 
and ’opes you are in werry good ’ealth.” 


A GLIMPSE OF THE GENERAL. 


21 


Arm in arm they stood stiffly erect before me. 
Then they pulled off their caps and bowed so low that 
they were unable to return to the perpendicular, and 
fell over in a heap. I left them there, a struggling 
mixture of arms and legs and shoulders, from which 
confusion came a medley of English and American 
oaths. 

I turned my course over toward the East River, 
and gazed at the twinkling lights on Long Island, 
where some of our soldiers had gone, and where it 
was reported Loudoun intended to make a fortified 
camp for the defense of the continent. 

Presently Culverhouse came to me there. He, too, 
he said, in the absence of anything better to do, had 
been strolling about, and, seeing me staring over the 
water as if I were moonstruck, had joined me. I had 
not known Culverhouse long, but we had become very 
good friends. Though his military rank corresponded 
to mine, he was two or three years my senior, and had 
seen a good bit of life in the great 'European world, 
with the stories of which he often entertained me. 
Besides, there was so much that was frank and honest 
in Culverhouse’s nature that it was much easier to 
like him than to dislike him. 

“ Watching the proposed encampment, eh, Char- 
teris?” he said. “Well, we can send a fine body of 
troops over there, but it seems to me our commanders 
could put them to better use. It scarce becomes us 
to wait here in New York for the French to attack 
us.” 

There was a touch of bitterness in his tone. The 
shameless waste of time was the source of much vexa- 
tion to the younger officers, and it was a comfort to 
apeak of our grievances. 

“ We have fared badly enough in the war,” I said, 
“ but suppose Montcalm were to have Loudoun’s 


22 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


abundance of resources and Loudoun were forced to 
endure Montcalm’s dearth of men, money, and ma- 
terial? ” 

“ Why, then,” said Culverhouse, “ King George 
would have to abandon claim to the last foot of soil 
on this Western continent. But our luck is not so bad 
as that. Perhaps we will go to the front some day, and 
then M. Montcalm may have to change the news that 
he sends to his master in Paris.” 

“ It is strange that Loudoun does not move,” I 
said. “ I have heard that he is ambitious, and one 
would think he would seize the opportunity to win 
glory.” 

“ You have not seen, him, then?” said Culverhouse 
briskly. “ Perhaps your opportunity is coming now. 
He is to visit the town to-night, and, as he has been 
spending the day on Long Island, he must return by 
water. He should land near here.” 

I proposed that we await the chance, and Culver- 
house assented willingly. 

“ That may be the earl now,” he said, fifteen min- 
utes later, pointing to a distant spatter of light on the 
stream. 

The light was approaching, and we guessed it to be 
made by a lantern in a boat. That our surmise was 
correct was soon indicated by the faint splashing of 
oars. Then some one began to sing. The words were 
those of a lilting love ballad, which Culverhouse told 
me was a great favorite with people of quality in 
London. 

“ I think that is the commander in chief’s barge,” 
said Culverhouse. 

“ Do you know the voice of the singer? ” I asked. 

Culverhouse did not reply, and when I asked the 
question again he still failed to answer. 

The song ceased, but it was followed by applause 


A GLIMPSE OF THE GENERAL. 23 

and laughter. The barge had now come into the light. 
It was gayly decorated, and carried a half dozen per- 
sons, besides the oarsmen. In the center of the boat 
sat a man of middle age. He had a florid face, a high 
forehead, and rather small eyes. His expression 
seemed to me to be both haughty and petulant. He 
wore a brilliant uniform, but his cocked hat was set 
a trifle more rakishly on one side than the sober- 
minded would deem consistent with dignity. He was 
speaking in rather heated tones to a man who sat 
facing him. 

“ I tell you, Hardy,” he said, “ these fellows of 
yours are a pestiferous set to deal with. They expect 
too much of the King and his officers, and when they 
get it they expect more. Are we to spend all our time 
and energy in protecting people who should protect 
themselves? ” 

“ But it is for such purposes that the King has sent 
us here, my lord,” replied the man gravely. 

I recognized the second speaker, a substantial, 
elderly figure, as Sir Charles Hardy, who had but re- 
cently resigned his position as royal governor of the 
most loyal province of New York in order that a good 
sailor might not be spoiled in the making of a poor 
governor. 

“ It is true,” exclaimed the man, not abating the 
loudness or sharpness of his tone, “ but we are not 
here to be cozened and cheated by them. They are 
shrewd hands at driving bargains, and think more of 
squeezing a profit out of my army than of contribut- 
ing to the King’s grandeur and glory. This is a fine 
coil when a nobleman must serve the ends of such 
hucksters and traders.” 

“ The Earl of Loudoun, the commander in chief?” 
I whispered to Culverhouse. 

He nodded. 


24 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


We did not mean to be eavesdroppers, for I have 
ever despised such, but we could not withdraw with- 
out attracting attention to ourselves, perhaps to be 
followed by unpleasant inquiry. 

“ I think, my lord,” said Sir Charles mildly, “ that 
you misjudge our people here. Doubtless there are 
cheats among them, but we have such at home in Eng- 
land, too, you know.” 

“ But they are not among our foremost men there,” 
said Loudoun, with a flushed face. “ Besides, I like 
not the talk that has been carried on so freely about 
me here. It seems to me they take strange liberties 
with their betters in the colonies, Hardy. They com- 
pare me with Montcalm, and they say the Frenchman 
does not suffer by it. . What do you think of that, 
Hardy?” 

Sir Charles was silent for a few moments. I knew 
what his reply must be if he spoke the truth, but the 
Governor was a diplomatic man, and presently he said, 
smoothly and evenly: 

“ You must admit, my lord, that Montcalm has 
skill, and has been able to make some head against 
us. But I doubt not that when you take the field you 
will make disposition of him to the great satisfaction 
of his Majesty and all of us.” 

“ Ay, that I will, Hardy ! ” said the earl with re- 
turning cheerfulness. “ Even now I am expecting 
news from Webb that he has chased Montcalm back 
into his own savage country. What can a few French- 
men and their savage allies accomplish against my 
brave boys there?” 

He waved his hand in the direction of the twinkling 
lights, where the bulk of the army lay, and then 
clapped it heavily upon the shoulder of a man who sat 
near him. 

“ What can the Frenchman and his savages effect 


A GLIMPSE OF THE GENERAL. 2$ 

against a real army, I say, McLean? ” he asked, raising 
his voice again. 

I had not paid until then any particular notice to 
the man whom he called McLean. But the earl’s 
action caused me to examine him closely. Though the 
blow was rather a heavy one, McLean did not yield 
to it a particle. His was an elderly face, darkened and 
seamed by years and exposure. He had a small, red 
eye, a high, hooked nose, and a stubby red beard. He 
was Scotch. That was plain enough. His face was 
one of great strength. Here was a man of will and 
action, I thought. 

“ One of the majors,” whispered Culverhouse. 

“ There are many in your army, my lord,” said 
Major McLean, “ who would like to give the French- 
man the opportunity to see what he can do.” 

“ You make rather free, Major McLean,” said the 
earl, showing temper. Then he added more lightly, 
“ But I must remember that you are one of those who 
have a most wicked appetite for war, and love to see 
the flash of the cannon — a most unchristian taste, I 
submit, is it not, Hardy?” 

“ Since there must be wars, it is well that some 
should have it,” said Sir Charles. 

“ And we do not think, my lord,” said the Scotch- 
man, speaking in a firm, precise tone, “ that it is a qual- 
ity in the possession of which the French should excel 
us just now.” 

“ Let the French rest for awhile,” said Loudoun 
impatiently. 

“ My lord, we have let them rest too long already,” 
said the major. 

Loudoun uttered something that sounded like an 
oath. But Major McLean was so much his senior in 
years and experience that he could scarcely resent 
openly the criticism that he knew to be so just. 


2 6 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“We will take these matters up in a day or two,” 
he said. “ Meanwhile we will confine ourselves to the 
business in hand.” 

The barge had reached the shore, but the oarsmen 
experienced some difficulty in holding it to the landing 
place. The boat and its lights had attracted another 
spectator, a tall, lank man, whose features we could 
not discern in the dusk. 

The lapping of the tide swung the boat back and 
forth, and it bumped heavily more than once against 
the wharf. Loudoun, seized with impatience, cried 
out to the tall stranger, who had .come near : 

“ Here, you lout, lend a hand and pull the boat 
up!” 

The stranger slouched closer to the wharf, but 
made no movement to help. We were now able to 
obtain a better view of his face, and we saw that it 
was that of a boy rather than a man. He was at least 
six feet two inches tall, and as slim as a rail. A great 
shock of tow hair overhung a pair of blinking blue 
eyes. He leered inquisitively at the barge and its 
passengers. 

“ I say, you lout,” called Loudoun angrily, “ bear a 
hand and help us with the boat ! ” 

“What’s the matter with you, stranger?” asked 
the lad, speaking in a nasal drawl, and showing no 
signs of discomposure. “ I don’t see no cause to get 
excited. That’s a tarnal fine uniform you have on, 
stranger. I’d like to have it. I’ll trade you these old 
clothes of mine for it.” 

The elongated lad threw back his head and laughed 
an uproarious, idiotic laugh. 

“ This is a type of your huckstering, clumsy pro- 
vincial, Hardy! ” said Loudoun. “ It is just as I said. 
What can we do with fellows like this?” 

“ Help us with the boat,” said Sir Charles to the 


A GLIMPSE OF THE GENERAL. 2J 

lad. “This is the commander in chief, and you may 
have the opportunity to-morrow to- tell your com- 
panions that you did a service for the Earl of Lou- 
doun himself.” 

“And if you don’t help us,” added Loudoun im- 
patiently, “ I may make it somewhat uncomfortable 
for you ! ” • 

The boy leaned his great length against a post, 
pulled at his tow locks, and said with a grin: 

“ I ain’t scared, and I ain’t goin’ to help neither. 
I ain’t no soldier to be ordered around. Let him help 
himself.” 

“Dash the fellow for his impertinence!” ex- 
claimed Loudoun. “ I’ll give him a taste of discipline 
in advance myself! ” 

He attempted to leap from the boat to the wharf, 
but miscalculated, and fell with a great splash into the 
sea. Two stout oarsmen seized him and dragged him 
spluttering back into the boat. 

The boy, whom I now took to be feeble of mind, 
bent over in a semicircle, put his hands upon his knees, 
and laughed in huge glee. 

“Oh, what a splash you made!” he exclaimed 
between chuckles. “ An’ that tarnation fine uniform 
all wet through and through ! ” 

“I’ll have you flogged half to death!” exclaimed 
the 'earl furiously, coughing the dirty salt water out 
of his throat. Probably he would have carried out his 
threat, but when the men succeeded in tying the boat 
to the wharf and he stepped ashore the lad was gone 
in the darkness, slipping away as silently as an Indian. 

“ The earl will have to get a new uniform for the 
ball,” said Culverhouse. 

“What ball?” I asked. 

“Why, the ball at the Waltons’!” replied Culver- 
house. “Have you forgotten?” 

3 


28 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


I had forgotten for the moment. But the events 
of the day were sufficient excuse for my condition of 
mind. I had an invitation to the ball, which was to 
be an exceeding great affair, graced by the presence 
of all the dignitaries, both military and civil, and I 
determined to attend. 

An hour later Culverhouse and I approached the 
brilliantly illuminated residence, in Queen Street, of 
my prosperous fellow-townsman, Mr. William Walton, 
who, you will recall, was the son of Captain William 
Walton, a famous shipbuilder, and who made a great 
fortune out of some fine contracts with the Spanish at 
St. Augustine. I was myself a distant relative of his 
wife Cornelia, through the Beekmans, she being the 
daughter of Dr. William Beekman, whose wife, Cath- 
arine de la Noy, was my mother’s first cousin. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE FASHION OF NEW YORK. 

Culverhouse and I stood for awhile in the street 
admiring this noble mansion, which is yet pointed out 
to all who visit in New York. I do not believe the 
colonies could boast another of such stately propor- 
tions, with its three imposing stories, its noble portico, 
with fluted columns and other embellishments of the 
architectural art. The three long rows of windows 
were flashing with lights. The carriages of our aris- 
tocracy were arriving already. The link boys were in 
the streets with their flaming torches, shouting to each 
other and conveying the commands of their masters. 
A great display they made, too, for we had a very 
rich, proud, and powerful aristocracy. In truth, it 
was charged against us in the New York colony then 
that, while we pretended to freedom and democratic 
equality, we had transplanted the feudal system of Eu- 
rope, and cherished it full as warmly as it was cher- 
ished in its ancient seats. But it is not for me to dis- 
cuss the question here. 

Presently a noble white chariot drawn by four 
great black horses drove up with a mighty clatter of 
hoofs and rattle of wheels. Mr. James de Lancey, the 
Lieutenant Governor of our colony, a very great man, 
and his family alighted from it and entered the house. 
Another chariot, containing Mr. Oliver de Lancey, his 
brother, and his family, followed speedily. Then came 
29 


30 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

their great rivals, the Livingstons, our city being di- 
vided into two camps, the de Lancey camp and the 
Livingston camp, and after them our treasurer, Abra- 
ham de Peyster, who, I verily believe, made the no- 
blest and most sumptuous show of them all. His coach 
was trimmed in silver, with the family arms very con- 
spicuous upon it, and was drawn by four spirited and 
beautifully matched grays. There were four servants 
in attendance, each wearing a blue coat lined with yel- 
low, with yellow cuffs and yellow small clothes. The 
buttons were of plain velvet, but the buttonholes were 
beautifully worked in yellow. 

I would have liked to ask Culverhouse if he had 
seen any more sumptuous equipage in London, but I 
thought it better taste not to do so. 

Then came the Philipses and the Van Courtlandts 
and the Beekmans and the Wattses and the Coldens 
and the Alexanders and the Roosevelts and the Lis- 
penards and the Nicollses and so many others that I 
can not tell of them all, merely adding again for the 
benefit of strangers that we had an aristocracy which, 
time and place considered, was quite the equal of any 
in the world. 

“Look! look!” exclaimed Culverhouse suddenly. 
“ See, ’tis the Queen of France! ” 

The light-blue chariot of Mr. Archibald Kennedy, 
drawn by four matched sorrels, had just stopped before 
the door. Mr. Kennedy had sprung out, and with 
bared head was assisting Mile, de St. Maur to alight. 
I understood at once what Culverhouse meant when 
he exclaimed, “ The Queen of France! ” 

Mile. Louise was arrayed in her finest, which was 
very fine indeed, and for the moment my eyes were 
dazzled by the splendor of her toilet and the striking 
contrast of her deep blue eyes and shining black hair. 
She bore herself, too, with a dignity equal to her 


THE FASHION OF NEW YORK. 3 1 

beauty, and this dignity, verging upon haughtiness, 
was quite natural in one among a strange and hostile 
people. 

Behind her came the seigneur, glittering in the 
lace and gold of a colonel of France, with his cocked 
and plumed hat on his head, and, splendid medals and 
orders upon his breast. With his brown, leathery, and 
Indianlike face, he looked very strange, and yet very 
imposing, in such brilliant garb. He was as stiff as 
a ramrod, and his failure to express any emotion what- 
soever increased the resemblance of his face to that of 
the red warrior. 

“ Why, how did they come here? ” I asked Culver- 
house in some surprise. 

“Why shouldn’t they come?” replied he. “The 
seigneur is here upon official and important business. 
It is natural that he should be the guest of Mr. Ken- 
nedy, with whom he has had commercial dealings be- 
fore the war, and it was the courtesy of one nation to 
another to invite them to this ball.” 

A restive horse attached to another carriage pressed 
very close to mademoiselle. I was glad of the oppor- 
tunity, and I sprang forward, pulling the horse back 
with one hand and sweeping my hat off with the 
other, while I made a very low bow. 

Mile, de St. Maur recognized me upon the instant, 
much to my joy. 

“ I have to thank you twice to-day, Lieutenant 
Charteris,” she said with a very bright smile. 

Then the Kennedy party went into the house, and 
Culverhouse and I soon followed. 

The ball was given for the honor and entertainment 
of our commander in chief, and all the officers and per- 
sons of distinction in the town were invited. Our com- 
mercial people in New York had accumulated much 
store of wealth, and they were not reluctant to give 


32 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


evidence of it. In truth, they would be anxious, the 
feminine portion of them in particular, to make a 
goodly show before our cousins from England. 

When I entered the ballroom I saw that I would 
have no cause to feel shame for our Americans. They 
wore costumes brilliant in color and of the latest mode, 
many of them having been brought over from Lon- 
don at great cost especially for such grand routs as 
this. 

Standing stiffly erect just under one of the wax 
candles was Mr. Arthur, looking very prim and pre- 
cise. His eyes met mine, but he took no notice of 
me beyond a slight nod. I replied with a nod equally 
indifferent. I looked about me for Marion, and did 
not see her; but my attention was attracted at that 
moment by a great bustle at the door. Important 
personages were entering, and the military band, 
loaned by the earl himself, and stationed in the next 
room, began to play a most inspiriting tune. 

It was the earl, accompanied by Sir Charles Hardy 
and a numerous staff, who was entering. He was 
much more composed and dignified than when I had 
seen him before, and conducted himself with gracious- 
ness and tact. The occasion and the surroundings 
were congenial. At one end of the room was a dais, 
bearing a fanciful resemblance to a throne. To this 
the earl was conducted, and, sitting there, he received 
the addresses and the homage of those who sought 
his acquaintance or favor. Among the latter, I am 
bound to confess, were some of our own people. Mill- 
wood, the fat contractor, who had made such great 
sums by furnishing short supplies at long prices to 
the army, was there, bowing and smirking as if the 
hinges of his knees had been freshly oiled and he were 
the most honest man in the room. 

“I* is y°ur turn, Charteris,” said Culverhouse, 


THE FASHION OF NEW YORK. 33 

thrusting a very sharp elbow into my side, “ to make 
apologies for your countryman. I think of the two 
I would prefer the earl.” 

I had small relish for his gibe, and, not knowing 
how to retort, I devoted myself to the more grateful 
task of joining the ladies. 

Other rooms connecting with the ballroom had 
been prepared for the guests, and they were at liberty 
to wander through them as they chose. There was 
much to see. The grand staircase, with its hand rails 
and banisters of mahogany, was a noble specimen of 
art. In the great dining room was the finest display 
of silver plate in all the colonies, and I heard long 
after, when the King wanted to tax the colonies and 
they pleaded poverty, that some of the English officers 
who had been present cited this very display of plate, 
and said few noblemen in England were rich enough 
to show its equal. 

In the most secluded of the rooms I saw Marion, 
talking to Spencer. She arose at once, and introduced 
me to Captain Gerald Spencer, who had arrived but 
a short while ago from Europe to join the army. We 
bowed as if we had never met before. In truth, ours 
had been but a brief and unpleasant coffeehouse ac- 
quaintance. 

“ Captain Spencer brings some letters from very 
good friends of my father in England, and, as Lieu- 
tenant Charteris is my father’s particular friend also, 
' it is well that you should meet and know each other,” 
she said. 

Spencer began to talk about the latest fripperies 
in London, in which Marion seemed to be much in- 
terested. I was taken at a great disadvantage. I had 
no natural turn for such subjects, and, besides, I had 
never been in London in my life. I endeavored to 
bring the talk back to matters nearer home, and even 


34 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


mentioned the war, but Marion struck me on the arm: 
with her fan, and said in a slightly vexed tone: 

“ Do not mention the war to-night, Lieutenant 
Charteris. Why do we come to the ball but to escape 
from the talk about this fighting.” 

“ The lady is right, Lieutenant Charteris,” said 
Spencer; “we will restrain our warlike inclinations 
until we meet the French.” 

I had blundered, and, making my apologies, I left 
them. So I soon found myself again in the company of 
Culverhouse, and shortly afterward saw Mr. Arthur 
talking with an appearance of great friendliness and 
favor to Spencer. 

“ Tell me something about him,” I said to Culver- 
house, inclining my head in the direction of Spencer. 
I felt that I had a certain guardianship over Marion, 
inasmuch as we had been playmates and were akin. 

“ There is not enough to make a long tale,” he 
said. “ I’ve had some slight acquaintance with him in 
England, and, so far as I know, he’s a decent sort of 
chap, though what you Americans call stiff. He is of 
a very old and high family in England.” 

“Indeed! From what royal mistress is he de- 
scended? ” 

“ You are jealous. Spencer is to be a baronet 
when his old unmarried uncle dies, but the estates are 
not large. Mr. Arthur fancies him, and perhaps the 
maiden, too.” 

The band was now playing music for the dance. 
Some new dances had been brought up lately from 
the Virginia province that had been received with 
great favor in New York. I thought at first I would 
ask Marion to be my partner for one of them, as Spen- 
cer’s manner had incensed me a bit, but I concluded 
that I would ask somebody else. The next moment 
I saw her dancing with the earl himself. 


THE FASHION OF NEW YORK. 35 

In truth, Marion was not much in my mind just 
then, and I began to look for the one who was. Pres- 
ently I saw her black hair, in which was thrust a lily 
of France, shining between the brown and yellow 
heads of our own fair New York girls. I was just 
in time, for they had begun a most unfair attack upon 
her, saying that neither Quebec nor Montreal could 
present such an array of fine men and beautiful women 
as that now present. 

“ Mile, de St. Maur will not yield to our claims, 
Lieutenant Charteris,” said Miss Mary Colden to me 
as I approached. 

“ Nor should she,” said I, with a gallantry in- 
tended for Mile. Louise’s ear. “ The lily of France is 
always triumphant.” 

Then I carried her off to the dance, she smiling 
her thanks to me and I hugely delighted with myself. 
More than once in the dance I met Marion’s eyes, and 
I saw a peculiar smile there which made me flush a 
little. I thought she might be piqued a bit, for a 
woman likes to have many lovers on her string. 

The earl was in high good humor, -all the ill tem- 
per I had seen in him when he was in the barge 
having departed. His partner’s beauty and grace 
could not fail to make an impression upon him, and 
his manner was of the courtliest. No doubt the war 
and its responsibilities had disappeared entirely from 
his mind. A little later, when I was compelled to 
yield mademoiselle to another colonial officer and I 
was standing alone, some one tapped me oh the arm; 
I looked around and beheld the glum face of Martin 
Groot. 

Martin had arrayed himself in something like fes- 
tive style in deference to the occasion, but his counte- 
nance was as morose and his temper as irascible as 
ever. 


36 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ I wonder if Montcalm is engaged in the same 
business just now?” he said, looking sourly at the 
earl. 

His remark seemed apt, and I suggested that 
Montcalm was probably dancing to another sort of 
music, and that we would have to pay for his fiddler. 

“ And he will continue to present his bills to us 
for payment,” said Groot, “ so long as the English 
send over gallants like that earl there to command 
us. Pah! Are we children to stand this?” 

I suggested that we were not altogether without 
blame ourselves, and I made instance of Millwood, 
the contractor, and others, all of whom were present 
that evening, basking in the sunshine of our provin- 
cial court. 

“ It is true,” said the glowering Martin. “ What 
a pity Montcalm could not catch every one of them, 
and send them off to France! — that is, the dishonest 
ones; for I am in the army supply business myself, 
and they hurt my trade.” 

Then he passed on to pour his complaints into the 
ears of others who he knew would not repeat his cen- 
sorious remarks. 

As I had no partner for the next dance, I sought 
the seigneur, and exerted myself that I might be agree- 
able to him. I found him to be a man of most courtly 
breeding. Nothing in his manner indicated his knowl- 
edge that he was upon the enemy’s ground, and for 
a quarter of an hour he talked to me of the Old World 
and told me incidents of the court of France. But ours 
was a shifting crowd. Every one in his turn gave 
way to some one else, and presently I found myself 
again with Culverhouse. He advised me to go into 
one of the side rooms and partake of a famous brew 
prepared by our host, who was renowned throughout 
the colony for his splendid entertainments. The ad- 


THE FASHION OF NEW YORK. 


37 


vice seemed palatable, and we wandered off in search 
of the boasted decoction. 

We found a lively group around the punchbowl. 
They were mostly young officers, British and Ameri- 
can both. Some of them we knew, and they greeted 
us with much applause. I drank a glass to the toast 
of our military success, and it put much heart into me. 

“ Here comes a new officer! ” exclaimed our Scotch 
friend, young Graham, who had been no enemy to the 
punch. “ But I wonder what army he belongs to. By 
my faith, he must be a general at the very least! ” 
He pointed to the door, and there was a great out- 
burst of laughter from the group. But Culverhouse 
pinched my arm in his surprise, which, however, did 
not exceed mine. 

The boy who had laughed at the earl’s mishap, 
looking longer and lanker than ever in the bright light, 
stalked solemnly into the room. He was not disturbed 
one whit by the derisive laughter that saluted him. 
He looked about him, but there was no trace of ex- 
pression on his face. We might have been a thousand 
miles away, so far as his eye denoted anything. 

“ Well, general,” cried Graham, “ is there anything 
we can do for you? Have you any commands for us, 
or do you wish to lead us immediately against the 
French? ” 

The boy looked at Graham, and then his eyes 
passed on to the others. 

“ Come ! come ! ” cried Graham, “ we all know the 
respect that is due to your Highness, but you know 
our martial character also, and we beseech you to 
break our suspense and tell us if the danger be press- 
ing.” 

“ I’m looking for the Earl of Loudoun,” said the 
boy, “ an’ you ain’t him.” 

“ Nothing less than the earl himself will content 


38 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


the general! ” exclaimed Graham, flushing a little when 
the officers . laughed at the boy’s remark. “ That’s 
right, general; don’t forfeit your dignity by discussing 
deep affairs with mere captains and lieutenants. But 
I fear much that the earl will not be accessible just 
now, even to so great a personage as your Highness. 
His occupation at this moment is too pleasurable for 
us to interrupt it.” 

“ I want to see the Earl of Loudoun,” repeated the 
boy in the same expressionless tone. 

“I’m afraid your Highness will have to wait or 
ask one of us to take your message,” said Graham. 
“ Would you condescend to divulge its import to one 
of us?” 

“ I must tell it to the Earl of Loudoun himself,” 
said the boy. “ That’s who I was to give it to, an’ 
I won’t give it to nobody else.” 

“A determined character, I see,” said Graham. 
“ Well, determination is the quality such important 
personages as your Highness need most. Doubtless 
your Highness is worried by great responsibilities, 
and a little of this noble brew will relieve you of your 
cares. Drink a toast with us, general.” 

“ I don’t care if I do,” said the boy, turning his 
gaze upon the great punchbowl. “ That looks pretty 
good for a dry throat.” 

“ A most miraculous cure for all such,” said 
Graham. “ Brother officers and gentlemen, join us 
in a toast to our new and distinguished comrade ! ” 

The glasses were filled, and then in a twinkling 
each was emptied. The boy drained his at a draught. 
Then he "handed it back to Graham, and said in his 
unchanging drawl: 

“ That was pretty good, an’ no mistake. Fill it 
up ag’in, stranger.” 

Graham obeyed willingly. The boy drank the 


THE FASHION OF NEW YORK. 39 

glassful again, and winked not an eye. Nor did the 
slightest flush come into his face. 

“ You are worthy to be an officer indeed,” said 
Graham, tendering him a third glassful. I saw that 
Graham’s plan was to get him into a state of intoxica- 
tion, in order that this country lad might make mirth 
for some idle officers. I felt like interfering, but there 
was such a chorus of approval around Graham that I 
hung back. 

“ Take another,” said Graham. 

“ I don’t care,” said the boy, “ if you fellows will 
drink with me. It’s not manners to drink by your- 
self.” 

The officers drank with him, but when he had 
drained a fourth glass too, they could not bear him 
company any longer. Their eyes were sparkling and 
their faces flushed, but his countenance was unchanged. 
When he put down his glass the last time, he looked 
stolidly around and again repeated: 

“ I want to see the Earl of Loudoun.” 

“You can’t,” said Graham. 

“ I’ve got to see him,” said the boy. “ I’ve got to 
see the earl himself, an’ I’m not goin’ away till Eve 
seen him.” 

He spoke in such a positive manner that his words 
made some impression^ 

“ He may really have a message of importance,” 
said a major, who was the eldest and staidest of the 
party. “ I think I shall tell the earl of him.” 

He left the room to find the earl, and Culverhouse 
and I, led by curiosity, followed to see to what end 
the matter would come. 

We found the earl in the same high humor. One 
of the dances had just come to a conclusion, and he 
was sitting on his makeshift throne surrounded by a 
worshipful party, in which were Mr. Arthur and Mill- 


40 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


wood, the sleek contractor. The major approached 
him, and saluted in a military manner. 

“What is it, Calthorpe?” asked the earl good- 
humoredly. “ Why do you pull a long face on a night 
of gayety like this?” 

“ I have a message, your lordship,” said the major, 
bowing deeply, “ or rather there is some one without 
who insists that he has a message for you of such 
importance that he will deliver it to you only.” 

“Business?” said the earl, frowning. “I do not 
care to turn my mind to such discussions to-night. 
It would not be gallant or courteous to our host. Let 
these matters wait until to-morrow.” 

“ But the messenger is marked by such eccentrici- 
ties of person, and seemed so earnest of manner, that 
I felt it my duty to come to you and tell you of him,” 
said Major Calthorpe. 

“Of a queer cast, is he?” said the earl, showing 
some curiosity. “ Tell me of this person whose affairs 
are of such importance that the world must cease to 
roll until he describes them.” 

The major gave an account of the boy and his 
actions. This piqued the earl’s curiosity, and he gave 
order that the messenger be brought before him. The 
major returned in a moment with the lad, followed by 
a crowd of officers. 

The earl fell to laughing as soon as he saw the 
messenger, whom he did not recognize, for he had 
seen him but faintly at the water side. 

“ You are right, major,” he said; “ he is a person 
of some eccentricities of manner and appearance. I 
am glad that you brought him. We may have some- 
thing amusing here. — What is your name, my lad?” 

“ Zebedee Crane,” replied the boy, not seeming to 
be in the least dazzled by the lights and the people in 
their splendid apparel. 


THE FASHION OF NEW YORK. 41 

“ The last name befits you if the first does not,” 
said the earl, still laughing. “Where do you live?” 

“ Up the Mohawk Valley, when I’m to home,” re- 
plied the boy. 

“ Evidently you are not 4 to home ’ now,” said the 
earl, and all the sycophants laughed*. “ You are not 
familiar with such sights as this, are you?” 

The earl had taken wine in the course of the even- 
ing, and was bent upon sport. But Zebedee Crane’s 
face remained stolid. He replied merely that it was 
all mighty fine.^ 

“ Wouldn’t you like to be an officer like these gen- 
tlemen here,” asked the earl, “ and dance with us to- 
night? ” 

“ I didn’t come here for that,” said the boy. “ I 
came to see the Earl of Loudoun.” 

“ Well, what is this matter which is of such weight 
that you can tell it to me alone? ” said the earl in some 
vexation at the unconscious rebuke of his childish- 
ness. 

“Are you the Earl of Loudoun?” asked the boy 
cautiously. 

“ I am,” said the earl. “ I think that some of my 
friends here can vouch for my identity.” 

“ In good truth we can,” said Mr. Arthur pomp- 
ously. — “ Boy, this is the Earl of Loudoun, com- 
mander in chief of the royal forces in America.” 

“ Then,” said Zebedee, “ if you are the Earl of Lou- 
doun, I’ve brought news from General Webb for you.” 

The earl uttered an exclamation, and there was a 
murmur of voices and moving of feet in the crowd 
which had gathered around to see the sport with the 
boy. All of them had been infected by Loudoun’s 
sanguine predictions of news from Webb that he had 
avenged William Henry and chased Montcalm back 
into Canada. 


42 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ Then you may be a more welcome messenger 
than I thought,” said the earl. “ What fine victory 
has Webb gained for us? What noble revenge has he 
taken for the disaster at William Henry?” 

“ I don’t know anythin’ about victories and re- 
venges,” said Zeb, “ but they say Webb ain’t overfond 
of fightin’. Anyhow, he’s quit, nearly all his army 
has gone home, an’ Montcalm and his Indians are 
marchin’ on Albany they say, and maybe they’ll be here 
in New York, too, pretty soon.” 

“ What! ” exclaimed Loudoun, pallor replacing the 
flush on his cheek. “ What do you say? It’s a lie! ” 

“ ’Tain’t no lie either,” said Zebedee calmly. 
“ Leastways when I left I saw the troops goin’ home, 
whole companies an’ regiments of ’em, an’ I saw the 
settlers in wagons, On horses, and walkin’, goin’ to Al- 
bany as fast as they could to save their scalps from 
Montcalm’s men.” 

The band had begun to play again, and some of 
the partners were taking their places for the dance. 

“ Stop that noise! ” said the earl angrily, and in a 
moment we heard only the heavy breathing of people 
dreading to hear evil news. 

“ I don’t believe this,” began the earl in a high 
voice; “ it is all a lie, the concoction of a weak-minded f 
boy. I’ll have you whipped in the stocks, sir, for 
bringing such falsehoods here!” 

“ ’Tain’t worth while,” said Zebedee, undisturbed. 
“ I’m the messenger of General Webb himself. Here’s 
his letter for you, tellin’ all that’s been done, I guess.” 

He thrust his hand into his coat and drew out a 
piece of paper. The earl read it, and his chin dropped. 
There was no need then for him to read it to us. 

As we stood there in the ballroom, Martin Groot 
thrust his grim face in between Culverhouse and me, 
and said: 


THE FASHION OF NEW YORK. 


43 


“ Montcalm knows how to make fine, music, too, 
but his tunes are not like ours.” 

There was a great hum in the ballroom at this 
disastrous news, following so closely upon the cap- 
ture of William Henry and the massacre of our people 
there. The thing was on everybody’s tongue, and even 
in the presence of the earl himself many bitter words 
were said about his slothfulness and incompetency, 
which had left all our border open to the inroads of the 
French and the scalping knives of their savage allies. 
And there was terror, too, among the women, who ex- 
pected to hear next that Albany had fallen and Mont- 
calm with a great army was in full march on New 
York. 

“ The English will redeem themselves,” I heard 
Governor de Lancey say to a group of men in the 
corner of the room. 

“ Perhaps,” replied William Livingston curtly, 
“ but how will that bring back to life the scores of 
Americans who are perishing daily under the Indian 
tomahawk? ” 

These two men were ever on opposite sides, and 
each strove, like a feudal baron, to be the ruler of New 
York. Most all have heard the old story how they 
met one day in the street and Governor de Lancey 
said to Mr. Livingston: 

“ Will, you would be the cleverest fellow if you 
were only one of us.” 

“ I will try to be a clever fellow and not be one of 
you,” replied Mr. Livingston. 

Which, I take it, caused no increase of good feeling 
between them. At any rate, on this evening they stood 
staring in icy fashion at each other, as they must have 
stared then. I have only to shut my eyes now and 
see them as they appeared that night — Mr. Livingston, 
but little more than thirty, tall, very thin, and grace- 
4 


44 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


ful, with a keen knife-blade face; Governor de Lancey, 
older, broader, heavier, and perhaps more imposing; 
both in powdered wigs, velvet coats, great embroid- 
ered ruffles, short breeches, silk stockings. of the finest 
quality, and shoes with great gold buckles; very pre- 
sentable both of them. 

Perhaps they thought it undignified to wage a 
controversy there and then, and they walked away in 
opposite directions. 


CHAPTER V. 


ENTER THE MAJOR. 

There could be no gayety at the ball after the 
ghastly news that Zebedee Crane had brought. The 
earl seemed quite overpowered by it, when he had so 
fondly been expecting news from Webb that he had 
redeemed the disgraceful disaster of William Henry 
and restored the fortunes of the campaign. As I gazed 
at his blanched face, where he still sat on his throne, 
sucking his dry lips, I felt no sorrow for him. He had 
idled and frolicked his hour away, and had taken no 
care to avoid the blow which had been struck so hard. 
All my pity was reserved for our bleeding frontier. 

There was a great turmoil in the ballroom for a 
little while. Then they began to put out the lights. 
The band had ceased to play already. In the uni- 
versal agitation Zebedee Crane had disappeared, but 
the fatal letter from Webb was still there, a witness 
that he had told the truth. 

I thought at once of the de St. Maurs. Such sudden 
and terrible news would bring them many frowns, 
for these two were French. I found the seigneur first. 
He stood by the wall, his face calm and immovable, 
though of course he had seen all that passed. But he 
did not show any exultation, and when I spoke of the 
news he merely said: 

“ It is the fortune of war; it may be our turn next 
to fall back.” 


45 


4 6 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

But I knew that in his heart he did not think so; 
that he thought the French would always advance. 

I suggested as delicately as I could that it would be 
best for him and Mile, de St. Maur to leave at once, 
and I offered to find mademoiselle. He assented, and 
thanked me. It was well that I sought Mile, de St. 
Maur, for I found that all our New York girls were 
withdrawing from her presence and looking most 
coldly upon her. - 

Mr. Kennedy, with the same object in view, had 
already ordered his coach. We quietly helped the de 
St. Maurs into it, and they drove away unnoticed in 
the confusion. Then I went back into the house to see 
how it all would end. 

The earl had roused himself from his stupor, and 
with his hand on his sword hilt, and a show of bra- 
vado on his face, was leaving the house surrounded 
by his staff. There was a great clack of voices around 
him, which he made no attempt to check. Culver- 
house and I followed, and then all of us went out into 
the street. The news, spreading with a speed for which 
I can not account, was known already in the town, and 
there was a crowd gathered outside. When the earl : 
stepped into the clear, cool moonlight, two or three 
persons in the crowd hissed. It was not possible to 
tell from whom the hisses proceeded, but all knew :! 
for whom they were intended. But the earl took no 
apparent note of them, save to raise his head a little tl 
, more haughtily. Then he strode down the street, : 
the torchbearers going in front, and the swords of his 
staff clanking at his heels. The crowd followed. 

“ It might be worth while to follow and see what 
may happen,” said Culverhouse. “ If I mistake not, 
affairs have a threatening look.” 

He was right, for more hisses came from the pur-' 
suing crowd, and Culverhouse and I strolled along, 


ENTER THE MAJOR. 47 

keeping aloof from either party, but holding both in 
clear view. 

It was evident that the earl intended to return at 
once to his quarters. As he advanced the crowd 
pressed closer upon the heels of his staff, and some one 
threw a stone. It is true it flew high over the heads 
of the earl’s party, as the man who threw it probably 
intended that it should, but it struck a board wall with 
a resounding thwack. The earl stopped and turned 
around. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said in a high voice to his officers, 
“ clear away this rabble! ” 

The officers drew their swords, and, laying about 
them with the flats of the blades, soon put the crowd 
to flight. In truth, the people made no resistance, for 
they had been content with expressing their displeas- 
ure in such a manifest way. The earl and his staff 
passed on without further disturbance. Then we dis- 
covered that we were not the only officers who had 
followed to see what might happen. A dozen or more 
stood about in the moonlight discussing the affairs 
of the evening. Among them I noticed Spencer and 
Graham, who were together. They were only a few 
yards from us, and Spencer’s glance fell upon us. 

“ Bad news to-night, eh, Lieutenant Charteris? ” 
he said jauntily; “but all this will be changed when 
the regular troops reach the scene of action.” 

“ The regular troops seem to have been of very 
little avail so far,” I said. 

“ I do not understand. I think it is our colonial 
levies that have been experiencing these disasters,” 
said Spencer. 

He knew better, for I had told him so at the coffee- 
house. He raised his eyebrows as he spoke, and there 
was something rasping in his tone. 

“What could you expect from provincials?” put 


48 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

in Graham, who had taken wine enough to upset his 
balance. “ When the trained troops from the old coun- 
try reach the frontier, they will scatter the French 
and their red friends as the wind scatters the dry 
leaves.” 

“ It was not so at Fort Duquesne,” I remarked. 

Spencer flushed at the taunt, given the second 
time. 

“We were surprised there,” he said. 

“ Surprise seems to be your customary condition,” 

I said. “ You seem to forget, gentlemen, that it is 
your people and not ours who have been directing 
the affairs on the border, and that your own leaders 
have suffered these disasters.” 

I think that Spencer would have let the matter 
pass, as he knew he had begun the trouble, had it not 
been for that drunken Graham. 

“ He insults us, and he insults the whole army,” 
said the Scotchman. “ Spencer, I would not endure 
his words.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Spencer to me, “ that you 
assume rather a high tone. Perhaps your criti- 
cisms might be weightier if your experience were 
greater.” 

“ It does not take any experience at all,” I re- 
joined with a laugh, “ to discern the faults of the lead- 
ers whom Britain has sent us. Their mistakes are so 
large that even the blind can see them.” 

“ You speak very plainly, sir,” said Spencer angri- 
ly, as he put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “ Men 
who use such words as yours should be prepared to j 
prove them with deeds.” 

Oh, you can’t fight him ! ” said Graham with a 
drunken leer. “ He is not of your rank. You mustn’t j 
forget that any officer who holds a commission from 
the King, even if he be only a lieutenant, outranks any 


ENTER THE MAJOR. 


49 


officer who holds a commission from a provincial gov- 
ernment, even if he be a general.” 

“ For shame! ” said Culverhouse, speaking for the 
first time. “ That contention has never been proved, 
and it can not be raised here.” 

“ Without yielding the point, I waive it,” said 
Spencer. “ I consider it my bounden duty to resent 
the gentlemen’s offensive remarks, and to demand the 
satisfaction which I trust he is ready to accord me.” 

“ I am ready at any time and place,” I replied. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Culverhouse, speaking with 
more warmth than he usually showed, “ it seems to me 
that you are turning a very slight punctilio into a very 
serious matter. Surely this can be settled without a 
resort to violence. It were better for us to save the 
edge of our swords for the French.” 

“ And it were better for a King’s officer to consort 
with his own people,” said the drunken Graham, “ in- 
stead of making cause with these colonials, who ex- 
pect us to fight for them and to take ingratitude as 
our sole reward.” 

“ If I wished advice as to the choice of my friends, 
I would go to a better quarter,” said Culverhouse 
calmly. 

But he made no further attempt to check the prog- 
ress of our quarrel. 

“ There is a very secluded and pleasant spot some 
distance back of the city,” said Graham, who seemed 
much bent upon having us fight. “ I noticed it two 
days ago, and it struck me then as an exceedingly 
favorable place for a passage at arms between gentle- 
men.” 

“ I am at the service of Lieutenant Charteris,” said 
Spencer politely. “ As I consider myself the chal- 
lenger, it is for him or his second to name the weapons 
and suggest a place.” 


50 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


I turned to Culverhouse. He divined the ques- 
tion that was on my lips, and before I could coin it 
into words said: 

“ It will afford me pleasure to be your second in 
this affair, Charteris. I think I know the place of 
which Lieutenant Graham speaks, and it will serve our 
purpose well enough.” 

Then he and Graham drew aside and talked for a 
little while. Presently he returned to the spot where 
Spencer and I were standing, stiff and silent, within 
a few feet of each other. 

“ You are to fight with small swords,” he said, 

“ and you will meet to-morrow evening in the moon- 
light at the spot Lieutenant Graham has men- 
tioned.” 

Both Spencer and I said we were satisfied with the 
choice of weapons. There was a little more discussion 
as to the exact time of the meeting and other arrange- 
ments, and then we parted, Spencer and Graham going 
to the camp and Culverhouse and I remaining in the 
city. 

Culverhouse left me at my quarters with a brief 
good-night and a remark that he would come around 
to see me in the morning. When he had gone I sat 
down at the window and looked out upon the town. 

I was still hot and angry. Spencer’s superciliousness i 
and the wine-fed sneers of Graham had been an ex- 
ceeding annoyance to me. The affectation of supe- 
riority shown by so many of the officers from the old 
country was very galling to us who were colonial 
born, and we were quick to resent it. In this and kin- 
dred things lay the seeds of the mortal quarrel which 
divided us forever twenty years later, and not a few 
among us were beginning to see it. My temples 
throbbed beneath the rush of wrathful blood. Then I 
felt sorry that the duel had been postponed twenty- 


ENTER THE MAJOR. 51 

four hours. Why could we not have fought the mat- 
ter out at once? 

But as I continued to look out upon the peaceful 
town the heat in my blood began to subside. There is 
something very soothing in a cool night breeze. I 
have noticed that men are much more warlike by sun- 
light than by moonlight. 

When I had at last indulged in a quarter of an hour 
of serious reflection, my feelings made a complete 
change. Then I saw very clearly that I did not want 
to kill Spencer nor did I want him to kill me. I per- 
ceived also how trivial had been our cause of quarrel. 
Was a sneer or two sufficient excuse for the taking 
of life? Out of my sober mind I concluded that it was 
not. It was the duty of both Spencer and myself to 
risk our lives for the country, but the way to do it was ' 
by fighting the common enemy, and not by slashing 
at each other with our swords. 

These thoughts convinced me that we had no right 
to fight each other when our Government had equipped 
and maintained us for its own service. 

But I did not see any way to escape with honor 
from the quarrel. The challenge had been given, and 
I had accepted it. I must fight Spencer. My blood 
was not so warm now. On the contrary, it was a chill 
current in my veins. I was not afraid; that is, I had 
the will to face death, though I have the frankness to 
say that I did not want to die. But it is almost super- 
fluous to say one does not want to die when he is only 
two-and-twenty and is dreaming of wearing a general’s 
uniform some day. 

I had attained some proficiency with the sword, 
a rather unusual thing in the colonies, for, as the rifle 
and the axe were the weapons with which our people 
had won the country, they had small time or taste 
left for the sword. Nevertheless, I had practiced with 


52 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

the weapon, and I believed that in the coming encoun- 
ter I would uphold the credit of our side of the Atlan- 
tic, in so far as credit was to be obtained from such an 
affair. 

I had determined to go to sleep early, knowing 
that there was nothing for the nerves like a good 
night’s rest, and I would need a steady heart and hand 
on the morrow. But sleep would not come merely 
for the calling of it. I put out the candle and lay down 
upon my bed, only to stare up at the darkness with 
unwinking eyes. New troubles came to me then. 
Suppose I killed Spencer! What would my own peo- 
ple think of me? The duel was not so fashionable 
among us — at least, in the Northern colonies — as it 
was in Britain. Our steady people frowned very much 
upon it as one of the evils of the Old World that need 
not be transplanted to the New. 

I heard the watchman call “ Three o’clock, and all 
is well ! ” and I answered him under my breath, but 
with anger, that all was not well. Soon afterward I 
fell into some kind of a distempered sleep, from which 
I awoke unrested. I could not hope for further sleep, 
so I arose and went to the window. Although an 
officer, I had not yet been required for any regular 
service, and, having no quarters allotted to me at the 
camp, I had obtained a room for myself in the city. 
It was a narrow little place, but the window looked 
over the bay, and as I gazed out with hot eyes I saw 
a pale and slender line of light shoot up from the black 
and gray mass of the sea. It quivered on the water 
like a streak of melting silver, and I thought for a 
moment it was the reflection of a falling star, and 
would fade. But new lines rose, apparently from the 
depths of the ocean, and streaked its surface with 
silver. Under the rim of the eastern horizon a gray 
light was showing, and the silver arrows which fell 


ENTER THE MAJOR. 


53 


across the water rapidly turned to gold, and the 
gray light itself gave way before the edge of a burn- 
ing disk which rose slowly and proudly from the 
sea. 

The eastern skies were spangled with gold as the 
sun, coming up from his night’s sleep in the ocean’s 
bed, shot his flaming darts in millions. The surface 
of the water became luminous. The sails of the ships 
in the bay showed white in the clear morning air. A 
polished bayonet on the wooded shores of Long Island, 
struck by a ray of light, threw off a flash and a gleam. 
Farther away the hills of Staten Island rose up in 
masses of green. The huge red globe of the sun now 
swung clear of the sea and crept imperceptibly up to- 
ward the zenith. The heavy note of a gun in the camp 
boomed over the hitherto silent waters, and the day 
had come to life again. 

In a few minutes I heard voices in the street below 
me. The town was awake, and its busy life had begun. 
A sailor in a foreign garb sang a song in a foreign 
tongue. I knew not the words, but it was a joyful 
song. I looked out at the sailor. He was walking 
along in the queer rolling fashion of the men of the 
sea. But he was a happy fellow, and seemed to be all 
content with himself and his lot. How beautiful the 
world looked, flooded with the pure radiance of the 
morning! How hard to give it all up, when one was 
only two-and-twenty ! 

But I determined to cast aside such enervating 
thoughts, and when I had eaten some breakfast I felt 
in better mood for the sharp business that was to come. 
Culverhouse came presently. 

“ Everything is ready for our affair,” he said. “ I 
think it will be a fine moonlight night. Plenty of light 
for the swords, and the place is far enough from the 
camp to prevent any interference. There will be only 


54 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


five present — you and Spencer, Graham and myself, 
and an army surgeon who has frequently acted at 
such affairs.” 

Of a certainty they had been expeditious enough 
about it all. Culverhouse went away in a few min- 
utes, saying he would meet me just outside the camp 
at six o’clock in the evening, and we would go then 
to the dueling ground. 

My presence would be required at the camp for 
awhile that day, and accordingly I buckled on my 
sword and walked toward the fields beyond King 
Street, in which so many of the soldiers were en- 
camped. As I walked along, somewhat absorbed, a 
heavy hand fell upon my shoulder, and a cheerful voice, 
speaking very good English, but giving a very strong 
Scotch twang to it, bade me good morning, adding 
thereto the remark that it was a very fine day for both 
men and beasts. 

I looked around in some surprise, and recognized 
the stern-faced Scotch major whom I had seen in the 
boat with the earl the previous night, and later at the 
ball. He was a tall man, bent just a trifle about the 
shoulders. His appearance was sufficient to tell any 
observer that this was a soldier of long and varied 
experience. 

“ I am familiar, young man,” he said, “ but you 
will charge it to my years. They are enough to stand 
it. I saw you at the ball last night, and you seemed 
to be less rattle-brained than most of the others of 
your age who were there. Your grave appearance 
this morning when I overtook you furthered that be- 
lief. Judging from your uniform, you are of the Royal 
Americans, is it not so?” 

I replied in the affirmative. Then he asked me if 
I had seen any service. I said that I had seen none 
as yet, but hoped that the time would soon come. 


ENTER THE MAJOR. 


55 


“ The time when we should be seeing service is at 
hand/’ he said, “ and of a certainty, after the news we 
received last night, action can not be postponed much 
longer” 

The old major's eyes snapped as he spoke. It 
was quite evident that he was no sluggard at his 
trade. 

“ I believe,” I said respectfully, “ that I am speak- 
ing to one who has seen much of the wars.” 

“ I am Major McLean, of the Black Watch, the 
Highlanders, you know,” he said, “ and I have served 
in the King’s army since I began life in it as a drum- 
mer boy of twelve. That takes us far back, almost to 
the last century. I have, served in many wars and in 
many parts of the world. I can say that, lad, without 
boasting or without adding a hair’s breadth to God’s 
truth.” 

I saw that he had a touch of garrulity, but it did 
not decrease my respect for him. It was the privilege 
of age and great labors. Moreover, he aroused my 
curiosity, for I, a soldier who had heard the cannon 
nowhere, wished to listen to the soldier who had heard 
them everywhere. 

“You began as a drummer boy?” I said insinu- 
atingly. 

“ Yes,” he said, the flash coming again into his 
eyes, “ and I followed Marlborough. It was at Blen- 
heim that I first saw the cannon feed on human flesh. 
Was there ever such another victory? Then I was at 
Ramillies and Oudenarde and at Malplaquet. God, 
but I still see the field of Malplaquet sometimes at 
night, and I wonder if the grass has ever grown again 
on that piece of ground where so many good English- 
men and good Frenchmen slew each other in a dis- 
pute over a trumpery Spanish crown that mattered 
little to either. They may tell you, lad, that the French 


56 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

are fops and dandies, and can not fight, but do not 
believe it. If you want to know about the French, 
ask those who meet them on the battlefield, not those 
who stay snugly at their own hearthstones.” 

“ The colonies know too well the valor of the 
French,” I replied. “ We are not prone to underrate 
them, for we must consider what has happened. But 
you served in many other campaigns?” 

I was as eager as a child to hear more. 

“ It was the French most of the time,” he contin- 
ued. “ I heard a sergeant say once that the French 
and English were created merely that they might fight 
each other, and in truth it looks sometimes as if it were 
so. After the peace, it being a dull season, and hav- 
ing an adventurous spirit within me, I went to India 
and took a turn with John Company, but there was lit- 
tle in that save the prospect of dying of the plague 
in a ditch, and I came back to my own island. After 
awhile it was the French again. There was Dettingen 
and then Fontenoy. That was an evil place, was Fon- 
tenoy. The French got the better of us there, but it 
was the Irish who did it for them. A plague on their 
disloyal souls! But how they fight! I remember their 
vengeful faces when they crashed through our line at 
/Fontenoy. I have never been able to understand, lad, 
why the bravest of races should remain in a subject 
condition, unless it be that they fight everybody’s bat- 
tles but their own.” 

I found that he was going to the camp also, and 
so we continued our walk together. On the way he 
continued his narrative. 

“ Before this war began I went back into the High- 
lands, he said, “ intending to live a quiet and religious 
life as became my age. But I found that life in the 
Highlands was more dangerous than life in the low 
countries when we were fighting the French there. I 


ENTER THE MAJOR. 


57 


had been away so long, and had been so much absorbed 
in other things, that I had forgotten that the favorite 
diversion of my countrymen was to fight each other. 
I belonged to a clan, and it was my duty to kill mem- 
bers of another clan whenever and wherever I could. 
But the Government stepped in at the right time and 
shipped the fighting force of both clans to this coun- 
try, in order that we might expend our valor upon the 
French to the great gain and glory of his Majesty, 
wherein I think that the Government showed much 
greater wisdom than is its wont.” 

In the short walk Major McLean asked me many 
questions about the French and the Indians, and I 
answered him as well as I could. Though he did not 
say it in so many words, I gathered that he, like all 
the other officers from over seas, thought that we 
would have little trouble with our enemies when we 
really and seriously took the field. There was also a 
certain patronizing air when he spoke of the colonial 
portion of the army which reached the quick. At first 
I was disposed to resent this trait in him, but, upon 
reflection, I saw that it was but natural, and that time 
and experience would probably undeceive him in both 
particulars. Nevertheless, I realized to the full how 
unfortunate it was that the officers from the mother 
country should assume such an attitude, whether or 
not they intended offense by it. 

When we reached the camp Major McLean left me, 
as it was his purpose to call immediately upon the earl, 
who wished to consult him about the campaign for 
which they were now making very hasty preparations. 
The major’s great experience, the gravity of his de- 
meanor, and integrity of his character made him a man 
of high trust in the army, and of a certainty the earl 
could find no better adviser. 

He seemed to have taken a fancy to me, and when 


58 ' 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


we parted asked me to call upon him at his quarters 
at the first convenient opportunity. I was rejoiced 
to have made such a friend, one who was a master of 
the arts of my profession. I assured him that the in- 
vitation was right welcome, and by no chance would 
be neglected. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A PASSAGE AT ARMS. 

My business at the camp was to report to our 
colonel and wait orders. I suspected that I would be 
required to remain there henceforth, which, indeed, 
was only fit, as everything indicated an early move- 
ment of the army toward the frontier. My expecta- 
tions were fulfilled, as I was ordered to be at head- 
quarters on the following morning and to remain there 
henceforth. But for the remainder of that day I was 
at liberty to do as I chose. I felt a secret sorrow that 
my leave of absence had not been abridged at once. 
In that case the duel could not be fought. Fear did 
not enter into this feeling, I can truthfully say. I be- 
lieve it was my better impulses, the conviction of the 
folly of such things, that condemned the affair in my 
mind. 

I strolled about the camp, noting the evidences 
of haste and preparation. The men, English and 
Americans alike, seemed to be very cheerful. None 
had chafed at the delay and waste of time more than 
they, and plainly they were full of eagerness to be on 
the march. The comparison in the appearance of the 
men interested me much, and caused me to reflect 
liow” widely extended were the dominions of his Maj- 
esty, and what resources he could summon for war. 
There were the English, fat, stocky, and red-faced, 
and with a fine girth of shoulder and chest. Sluggish 
5 59 


6o 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


in temperament, but very steady and enduring, I knew, 
because I had read history. Then there were our own 
Americans, taller and thinner and leaner than the 
English, but tougher and more wiry. At least, I be- 
lieved them to be better fitted by training and experi- 
ence for war in the deep woods and dense thickets, 
which was about the only kind of war that our conti- 
nent yet knew. In truth, I felt a deal of pride in the 
appearance of our colonial troops. There was very 
little sheen of brilliant uniform and flash of gold epau- 
let about them, for, barring the Royal Americans, they 
were very plainly attired, but their steady eyes and sun- 
browned faces showed that they were the right men 
for forest work. I was well aware that our allies held 
us rather cheaply, as it is the custom of the people of 
old countries to look upon the people of new coun- 
tries, and I could not repress a desire that our men 
might have a good opportunity to show their skill and 
courage. I hope there was nothing wrong in the feel- 
ing. At least, it might check the growing antipathy 
of the English and Americans toward each other which 
this attitude had caused. 

On the outer edge of the encampment I found the 
Highland regiment to which my new friend Major 
McLean belonged. They were but lately arrived, and 
hitherto I had not had an opportunity of observing 
them closely. I found them to be well worthy of ex- 
amination, for they were a right wild and* fierce-look- 
ing lot, and they made a great display of knives and 
of large swords, each of which had at the hilt some 
queer-looking basketwork, evidently designed as a 
protection for the hand. They were packing their 
baggage and cleaning their muskets, and a tremendous 
swearing in a strange, guttural tongue was going on. 
I knew it must be swearing, though I understood it 
not, for the sounds had all the flavor of oaths. Still, 


A PASSAGE AT ARMS. 


61 


there was no fighting, though I inferred from their ap- 
pearance that Major McLean’s words about their bel- 
ligerent character were no exaggeration of the truth. 

I was somewhat shocked at the garb of these High- 
landers, or rather at the lack of it. We were not ac- 
customed in the colonies to the sight of men going 
around on bare legs in broad daylight. Only a day or 
two later one of these Highlanders, coming down to the 
city on some errand for his colonel, was arrested by a 
constable on Nassau Street for indecent exposure of 
his person. There was a great fuss about it, and the 
civil authorities and the military were arrayed very 
fiercely against each other. The colonel was in a fear- 
ful temper. Such an act as the arrest of his man was 
an unpardonable outrage, he said. It was an insult to 
all Scotchmen, and also to his Majesty, the King, who 
had been known to don the Highland costume on cer- 
tain notable occasions. But the aldermen of the city, 
most of whom had Dutch blood in their veins, were 
of a high obstinacy, and were not disposed to yield. 
They retained the prisoner in custody, and asserted 
that no man should be seen on the streets of New 
York unless his body was properly clothed. Any 
exception was injurious to the public good, and likely 
to corrupt the morals of a young and growing prov- 
ince. The Governor himself was compelled to be a 
peacemaker, and through his intervention the unfor- 
tunate Highlander was released from the prison and 
sent back to his scantily attired comrades at the camp. 
But the general opinion of our people upheld the aider- 
men in their course. 

While the Highlanders were very peaceful when 
I came up, I soon had evidence of the natural heat of 
their temper. Two of the men got into a quarrel over 
a tent pole, which it seefned each claimed. In a flash 
they had their dirks out, and I have no doubt much 


62 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

thick Scotch blood would have been shed had not 
Major McLean rushed up and, with many violent 
words, forced them to return their dirks to their 
sheaths and go about their business. A moment or 
two later they were working together in as friendly 
a spirit as if they had been born twin brothers. 

It was while I was looking at these men that 
Graham came up. I was disposed to be reserved with 
the man, as I believed he had been the chief cause of 
the quarrel the night before. But he appeared to be 
greatly improved by the daylight and the absence of 
drink, and refused to be unfriendly. 

“ Delighted to see you, Lieutenant Charteris,” he 
said in a gay tone, “ and doubly delighted to see you 
here. The contemplation of arms and armies is an 
eminently fit occupation for a man who is so soon to 
test the edge of his own sword.” 

“ Perhaps it would be better for both of us to save 
our swords for our real enemies,” I could not refrain 
from saying. 

“ I would expect such a remark from a civilian, 
and not from you, Lieutenant Charteris,” he returned 
in the same gay tone. “ A soldier should always be 
happy when the chance comes to use his weapons, if 
not on the enemy, then in a friendly and gentlemanly 
passage at arms with his comrades.” 

“ And I would expect such sentiments,” I replied, 
“ from a Frenchman, and not from a Scotchman, for 
I have been told always that the Scotch are a cold race, 
and have a very practical mind.” 

“ Your supposition is true, if we accept it as a gen- 
erality,” he said; but there are exceptions, and I am 
one of them. Perhaps you may ascribe it to my French 
education, for I passed four years in Paris, learning 
swordsmanship, the flavor of good wine, and other 
accomplishments which perhaps I had better not re- 


A PASSAGE AT ARMS. 


6 3 


count. Consequently, I have acquired to some extent 
the Gallic mode of looking at matters, and accept the 
duel as the arbitrament of gentlemen and one of the 
flowers of a polished civilization. I shall always rever- 
ence the memory of my fencing master, Adolphe la 
Bordais, a gentleman and a true artist in his profes- 
sion. Of a family of some blood and no means, he 
taught swordsmanship for his bread and wine, and 
that he remained the gentleman he proved by often 
meeting other gentlemen on the field of honor. It was 
in one of these encounters that he fell. I was present 
and saw it all. He made a false stroke, something 
that he had never done before, and for which I can not 
account to this day, and his antagonist profited by it to 
run him through the chest. The poor fellow in his 
dying agony said, ‘ I deserved it; only death could 
punish such an error ’ ; and, turning to his antagonist, 
added, ‘ Had you not profited by my bad play, I should 
have held that I was forever disgraced by meeting 
you/ Then he died very gracefully and contentedly. 
He was an honorable gentleman, and an illustrious ex- 
ample of devotion to one’s art.” 

He talked on in this lively fashion, and in spite 
of myself I found him to be mightily entertaining, 
though I thought him to be something of a coxcomb 
and rattlepate. He was near the middle of one of his 
tales of Paris when we came almost face to face wit^i 
Mr. Arthur and his daughter and a company of young 
officers, among whom was Spencer. Mr. Arthur was 
in affable mood, though he did not discard his usual 
pomposity. Long custom had made that an insepa- 
rable part of the man. 

Graham saluted them with the grace and ease that 
acquaintance with fashionable life gives, and I bowed 
very low also. Spencer spoke to us as courteously 
as if he and I had no thought of shedding each other’s 


6 4 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


blood. Mr. Arthur inclined his head slightly to me, 
and considerably lower to Graham. But I did not 
mind the slight. Marion asked me presently if I did 
not think Mile, de St. Maur had looked very hand- 
some at the ball. I said I thought so, and I said it 
with emphasis. Whereupon she smiled that pecul- 
iar smile which caused me to flush a little as before. 
Then she undertook to plague me, but did not suc- 
ceed, though she caused Mr. Arthur, who thought the 
conversation was of a different kind, to bestow a 
frown upon us. In a few minutes they passed on, and 
Graham, too, left me. 

My last sight of Marion was when she and her 
father stepped into their carriage to return to the city.. 
Spencer and all the other gay crowd were there to bid 
them good day, while I lingered in the distance, think- 
ing about my duel. 

Presently the daylight began to fade. The sun, 
tinging the earth with fire as he slid down the curves 
of the sky, went out of sight beyond the hills. The 
dusk followed the sunken sun, and I saw the new- 
lighted lamps of the city gleaming like an army of 
torches. The far hills of Staten Island crumbled away 
before the encroaching darkness, and night fell. In 
time the moon came out, and the light, as had been 
foretold, was sufficient for the duel. 

I was at the appointed spot, back of old Peter 
Stuyvesant’s pear tree, a few minutes before the time, 
an d^ was the first to arrive. Culverhouse came^next. 

“First on the ground, eh, Charteris?” he said 
cheerfully. That speaks well. How are you feel- 
ing?” 

He came close and scanned me critically. Then 
he put his hand upon my pulse. 

. Y e jy S°° d! ” he said approvingly. “ Very good, 
indeed, for a beginner at this business. Your wrist is 


A PASSAGE AT ARMS. 


65 


steady enough to handle a sword, and your eye does 
not show excitement. Do not misunderstand me, 
Charteris. I have never doubted your courage, but 
an amateur is likely to become nervous.” 

He carried two swords in their scabbards under 
his arm, and was preparing to show them to me when 
Spencer and Graham, accompanied by a third man, 
who was the surgeon, arrived. We saluted as politely 
as if we had met at a ball, and Graham, looking around, 
said the place was very suitable for the sport in which 
we were about to indulge. 

It was a quiet little glade, beyond the hum of the 
camp, and hemmed in by high trees, though there was 
no obstruction overhead, and the moon shone down 
upon us very brightly. 

Culverhouse and Graham drew to one side to ex- 
amine the weapons. Spencer and I stood, stiffly erect, 
near each other. Neither spoke; nor did the sur- 
geon, a placid, middle-aged man, who leaned calmly 
against a tree, and placed the little case that contained 
the tools of his trade at his feet. 

Culverhouse and Graham seemed to be in no haste 
about their task. They drew out the swords — or 
rapiers perhaps it would be better to call them, for 
they were slender, Spanish-looking weapons — and ex- 
amined them with great care. The bright blades upon 
which the moonbeams fell glinted like silver. They 
measured the rapiers carefully, and saw that they were 
precisely the same in length and breadth. They bent 
the blades over their arms, and then released them, the 
tempered metal straightening itself out again with a 
sharp tang. 

“ They are all right,” I heard Graham say. “ True 
metal both of them, and as pretty weapons as I have 
seen in many a day. It would be a pleasure to use one 
of them myself.” 


66 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


They turned toward us, and Culverhouse ex- 
claimed : 

“ Hullo! who is this?” 

I looked around, for I had heard no footstep, but 
not ten feet from me a long, slender figure was lean- 
ing against a tree, and a pair of owllike and in- 
expressive eyes set in an ugly countenance were re- 
garding us. I recognized the boy Zebedee Crane at 
once. 

“And where might you have come from?” ex- 
claimed Graham, annoyed at the interruption. 

“ I might have dropped from the skies, an’ ag’in I 
might have popped up from the ground,” said the boy 
drawlingly, “ but I didn’t do neither, mister.” 

“ This is an affair of gentlemen,” said Graham. 

“ Then I guess you need me, mister,” replied the 
boy. 

I was forced to laugh, and Spencer remarked, “ He 
had you there, Graham.” 

“What do you want?” asked Culverhouse. 

The boy sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and 
said in his unchanging drawl: 

“ I thought I’d come an’ see if you fellows fight 
each other any better’n you fight the French.” 

“ You are impertinent, sir,” said Spencer. “ Now 
be off with you! This is no business of yours.” 

“ I think I’ll stay,” said the boy. “ It was a lot of 
trouble to come here to see you men chop each other 
up, an’ I guess I won’t go away now. ’Twould be too 
pretty a sight to miss.” 

“ I’ll try the flat of a sword on him,” said Graham, 
flaring up. He drew his weapon and advanced threat- 
eningly toward the boy. 

For the first time Zebedee’s face expressed some- 
thing besides stolid indifference. The upper and the 
lower jaws swung apart and his mouth stretched al- 


A PASSAGE AT ARMS. 67 

most from ear to ear in a grin as wide as the Hudson 
River. 

“ Waal, I guess not,” he said, lengthening his 
drawl. “ That’s a pretty long blade you’ve got in your 
hand, mister, but it’s not worth shucks when it’s got 
to walk up and face this.” 

He reached down and drew from his flapping trow- 
sers’ leg an enormous horse pistol, which he cocked 
with a sound like the grating of a huge chain dragged 
over stones. Then he leveled it squarely at Graham. 

“ Good God, man,” exclaimed Graham, “ don’t 
shoot! What do you mean?” 

“ I mean it’s time for you to stop and put your 
sword back in its place,” said Zebedee, from whose 
face the grin had disappeared like a chasm closing 
after being opened momentarily by an earthquake’s 
shock, “ because there’s pretty nigh a handful of slugs 
in this pistol of mine, an’ if it goes off you’ll be scat- 
tered all through the woods. Look out! That right 
forefinger of mine is mighty set in its ways, an’ I can’t 
hold it back sometimes.” 

“Good heavens, man, I’ll stop!” exclaimed 
| Graham, who saw that he was in real danger. 

He returned his sword to his scabbard and stepped 
back. 

“ That’s right,” said Zebedee complacently. “ A 
j sojer ought to keep cool.” 

“ Put up your pistol,” said Culverhouse. “ No- 
body is going to assail you.” 

“ I guess not,” returned the boy. “ But while I’ve 
got it out I guess I’ll keep it out. I’ll see that the two 
j officers fight fair. I’ll act as a sort of judge.” 

His manner indicated that he had made up his 
mind, and would not alter it. He rested his pistol upon 
his knee, but kept his finger upon the trigger, seeming 
to indicate that the coming duel was to be under his 


68 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


supervision, and that if either of us violated the rules 
in any particular the offender would receive the con- 
tents of his horse pistol. 

Culverhouse looked inquiringly at Graham. 

“ We can not permit anything of this kind,” said 
Graham. “ Such a gawk should not be allowed to in- 
terfere in an affair of honor among gentlemen.” 

“ Don’t trouble yourself about me,” said Zebedee. 

“ I won’t put in if the fellows fight fair. Now go on. 
I’m waitin’.” 

He looked so formidable with his pistol that our 
seconds, who had swords only, showed a prudent hesi- 
tation. 

“ Suppose we go on with our arrangements,” said 
Culverhouse. “ The gentleman was not invited to 
attend, but our principals can fight just as well, despite 
his presence.” 

After some demur Graham agreed, though he pro- 
tested that it was very irregular. Then Spencer and 
I stepped aside and removed our coats. 

“ Be very careful,” said Culverhouse to me, “ and 
do not become excited. Watch your opponent’s eye. 
I suspect that he has had more experience with the 
sword than you, so pay the utmost attention to your 
guard. Let him make the assault, and when the time 
comes for you to attack in return let it be the straight, 
single thrust. But do not lunge too much.” 

In the course of a winter that I had spent in Al- 
bany I had taken some lessons from a traveling French 
fencing master, whose beautiful sword play had ex- 
cited much admiration, and I believed that I had been 
a rather apt pupil. Nevertheless, I thanked him for his 
advice, which I knew was given with the best inten- 
tions. 

Then Spencer and I took our positions, facing each 
other in the center of the glade. The surgeon opened 


A PASSAGE AT ARMS. 


69 


his leather case, and Culverhouse and Graham stood 
by to watch our play with the weapons. I still felt a 
very strong disinclination either to kill or to be killed, 
but my nerves were steady, and I looked straight into 
Spencer’s eye. Our seconds handed us the rapiers. 
We bowed to each other, Culverhouse gave the signal, 
and we stood ready for thrust or parry. 

Spencer feinted with his weapon, and then, recov- 
ering, made a quick thrust. More by luck than skill 
I caught his' blade on mine and warded off the 
blow. 

“ Englishman knows more about the business, but 
American has the stronger wrist,” I heard Zebedee 
say. 

Then for nearly a minute we stood facing each 
other, holding our weapons ready, but scarcely mov- 
ing them. My muscles were strained and my breath 
was short, but my antagonist was in the same condi- 
tion. I remembered Culverhouse’s advice to stand 
on the defensive. So I stiffened my wrist and stared 
into Spencer’s eye. Presently he tried the lunge a 
second time. Again I parried with success, and was 
quick enough with the return blow to give him a fillip 
across the hand, which cut the skin and drew a slender 
red thread of blood. Spencer gritted his teeth and 
said something under his breath. For the first time an 
angry look came over his face. 

“ First blood for the American,” said Zebedee. “ I 
wouldn’t have thought it.” 

The cut, mere scratch though it was, seemed to 
arouse Spencer’s temper, and he assailed me vigor- 
ously, thrusting with a rapidity that compelled me to 
keep an exceedingly wary eye and ready hand. 

Presently Spencer made a rapid thrust at my chest. 
I parried it, but he came back so quickly with a nasty 
jab that the point of the blade caught me across the 


70 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


arm and, ripping through my shirt sleeve, made a 
long gash that bled freely. 

“ That was a good one,” said Zebedee. “ Twas 
quickness that done it.” 

The flowing of the blood and the stinging sensa- 
tion in my arm angered me, but fortunately I was 
able to control my temper and to remember that cau- 
tion was my best policy. The cut was not deep enough 
to weaken me. 

We fenced slowly and cautiously for a minute or 
two. I thought by the look in Spencer’s eye that he 
was going to make another vicious attack, and was 
not deceived, for he tried again precisely the same 
movement that had been so successful before. But I 
was watching for this blow, and when his blade flashed 
I leaped aside and with an upward thrust caught him 
across the arm. As the blood flowed down from his 
arm he stabbed angrily at me. But my blade caught 
his, and then with a quick but powerful twist which 
the French fencing master had taught me I sent his 
sword flying into the air. It fell to the ground and 
clanged as it struck a stone. 

Disarmed as he was, Spencer showed no lack of 
courage. He faced me steadily, the blood from his 
wounded arm dripping upon the ground. 

“ I have had enough,” I exclaimed, throwing my 
sword across his. 

“Enough, indeed! It’s too much for both of 
you! ” exclaimed a loud voice, as Major McLean, fol- 
lowed by a file of soldiers, pushed into the glade. 
“ This is a pretty state of affairs when two of the King’s 
officers are slicing up each other with the swords that 
should be reserved for the French.” 

The major’s face was very red, and his eyes showed 
much anger. 

Major McLean,’ said Graham, who evidently 


A PASSAGE AT ARMS. 


71 


knew him well, “ I was not aware that a Highlander, 
an officer of the Black Watch, had any conscientious 
scruples against fighting.” 

“Nor has he,” returned the major,, “ when the 
fighting is done at the proper time and against the 
proper persons. And you, sir,” he said, turning to me, 
“ I thought you were too sedate a man to be engaged 
in such nonsense and wickedness as this!” 

“ I could not honorably avoid it,” I said depre- 
catingly. 

“ It is always honorable to avoid folly,” he said se- 
verely. 

Spencer undertook to utter some excuse, but the 
wrathful old man abruptly bade him to be silent. He 
ordered all four of us to deliver up our swords, and 
when we had done so he notified us that we were under 
arrest. I looked around for Zebedee, but he was gone 
like a ghost. 

Then, surrounded by the soldiers, the major 
marched duelists and seconds off to the camp. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Loudoun’s way of making war. 

My first sensation after our arrest was of shame. 
The major’s stern reproof reached the quick. Some- 
how I cared much for the old man’s good opinion, and 
it was mortification to think that I had lost it. More- 
over, what he said about our affair coincided so well 
with the thoughts that had troubled me after the chal- 
lenge and before the duel that I could not persuade 
myself by any sort of deceit that he had not spoken 
the truth. 

We were escorted into the camp as if we had been 
spies taken within the lines. We walked along in a 
glum silence. The sentinels looked up at us, and an 
officer or two lounging near regarded us with some 
curiosity. Culverhouse and I were placed in one tent, 
and Spencer and Graham were sent to another. What 
became of the surgeon I did not notice. A red-headed 
Highlander was ordered to stand guard before our 
tent door. 

“ If they try to escape,” said the major to the High- 
lander, “ act as if they belonged to the clan that is the 
enemy of yours.” 

The Highlander showed his wolf’s teeth under his 
red mustache and his eyes twinkled. Looking at him, 
I had no desire to attempt an escape. Then the major 
strode away, leaving us to our thoughts and our High- 
lander. 


72 


loudoun’s way of making war. 73 

They had left us a candle, which was sputtering in 
a little wooden sconce that hung from one of the tent 
poles. But there was enough light for me to see that 
Culverhouse’s face as usual was without expression. 

“ Well,” I said, “ our duel has ended for Spencer 
and me in a manner that neither of us expected — in 
the guardhouse.” 

“ It seems to me that both of you ought to think 
an end in the guardhouse is better than an end down 
there under the clods,” said Culverhouse, flipping his 
hand toward the earth. 

There was good philosophy in what he said, I was 
bound to admit. 

“ You bore yourself very well,” continued Culver- 
house, “ and showed that you had a good wrist and 
eye for the sword; better, in fact, than I believed you 
had. You don’t mind my saying I thought that your 
life was largely at Spencer’s disposal, and I was as 
much surprised as he probably was at the result.” 

“ I thank you for a revision of your bad opinion,” 
I said. 

“ It was not your courage, merely your swords- 
manship, that I called into question,” he said. “ Now 
if you will kindly excuse me, I think I will go to sleep.” 

He lay down on a blanket and in a few minutes 
was asleep. His words had started me on a new 
train of thought, and I felt that, after all, I did not 
have much cause for shame. I, a colonial officer, had 
been victorious over an accomplished swordsman from 
the mother country. A‘s I have said, we were extreme- 
ly sensitive in the colonies to English aspersions on 
our skill or courage, and my countrymen of my own 
rank and station would be far from condemning me. 
That I knew. The thought was so pleasant that I fell 
asleep. 

The next morning Culverhouse was taken away, 


74 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

for what purpose I knew not, though I supposed that 
he would be released as being less culpable than I. 
Soon after he had gone the villain of a Highlander 
thrust his head in at the door and grinned at me. 
The lump-headed fellow did not speak, but indulged 
in some amazing pantomime which I supposed he 
intended as a description by gesture of my arrest the 
night before. I picked up the wooden sconce which 
had held the candle and threatened him with it. Then 
he retired with a grin so wide that it led all the rest, 
and I caught an occasional glimpse of his bare and un- 
symmetrical legs as he tramped his little beat in front 
of the tent door. 

Presently I had another visitor, and this time it 
was Major McLean. 

“ Major,” I said as soon as I saw his seamed, brown 
face, “ grant me one request. Take away that hideous 
fellow you have put at my door and give me a new 
guard.” 

“ Oh, no,” said the major with a smile. “ Sandy 
is just the man for the place. That’s Sandy McCorkle, 
whom I have known for a generation, a most honest 
fellow, and something of a humorist. That is why 
I put him here. I thought he might cheer you as well 
as guard you.” 

“ Possibly the Scotch idea of humor differs from 
the American,” I said. 

“ One’s opinion of humor is like the color of the 
sea, he said. “ It depends on the atmosphere. Your 
atmosphere just now conduces to serious reflection, 
or at least it should do so. It is a very grave offense 
for two of our young officers to be fighting a duel 
when they ought to be making every preparation to 
meet the Frenchmen.” 

“ 1 do not se e how I could have done otherwise ” 
I said. 


loudoun’s way of making war. 75 

“ Was it your first duel?” he asked. 

“ Yes,” I replied. 

“ Were you not afraid? ” he asked. 

“ I am a soldier,” I replied proudly. 

“ I have known some soldiers who were very much 
afraid,” he said. 

To this I had no reply to make. 

“You have had teaching and practice with the 
sword?” he said interrogatively. 

I answered in the affirmative, though I did not see 
the drift of his questions. 

“ You handled your weapon well,” he said medi- 
tatively. “ That was a peculiar twist you gave to your 
wrist when you disarmed Lieutenant Spencer. I had 
not seen its like before. Where did you learn it?” 

“ It was taught to me by a Frenchman,” I said. 

“ Then I wish you would teach it to me,” he said 
with a sudden display of enthusiasm. “ It was prettily 
done, my boy. For a time when I saw his fierce at- 
tack I thought he had you, but when you sent his 
weapon whirling it was like a turn in a play.” 

“ Why, did you see what had happened before 
that?” I asked in surprise. 

“See it? Of a certainty, of a certainty! ” he said. 
“ I could not miss so fine a sight. On my word, you 
did well for a youngster. I thought once I would have 
to interfere and make the arrests too soon. It is a 
pity to mar good sport. But that turn of your wrist 
decided it, and relieved me of the necessity for prema- 
ture action. It was prettily done, I repeat, and I have 
come around to wish you a very good morning.” 

Then without another word he departed, leaving 
me very much surprised, and, in truth, very much 
pleased also. This pleasure was increased an hour or 
two later when Culverhouse sauntered unconcernedly 
into the tent. 

6 


76 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“What does this mean?” I asked enviously. 
“ What a fine air you have! Have you been appointed 
commander in chief in place of the earl?” 

“ I suppose I could get the position if I wanted it,” 
returned Culverhouse, “ but I am not an aspirant for 
it. I thought I would tell you that you would not be 
hanged or drawn or quartered for fighting that duel. 
In some accidental way, for I can not ascribe it to 
your merit or your manners, you have made a great 
friend of that old fire-eater, Major McLean, and he is 
shouting your praises about the camp. Besides, we 
are so busy with the preparations against the French 
that our seniors haven’t time to bother about the de- 
linquencies of subalterns. So if you will make a great 
effort to be discreet, and to talk very little, ‘they will 
probably forget all about you before night.” 

I found that Culverhouse was a true prophet of 
good. Late in the afternoon the brusque but friendly 
major came to the tent and told me to go about my 
business, which I was very happy to do. No official 
cognizance of the duel was ever taken, and I have no 
doubt now that, considering all the circumstances, espe- 
cially the known ill feeling between the English and 
the colonial officers, it was the part of wisdom to over- 
look the matter. 

But my good luck in disarming my antagonist gave 
me quite a reputation among my countrymen, which 
I sometimes found a trifle inconvenient, for I had no 
desire to pose as a hero of the dueling ground. 

For some days we were in a great state of bustle. 
An army, like a woman, must make much fuss and 
preparation before starting on a journey, and the whole 
camp was in a tumult every day from early morning 
until long after the sun had slid out of sight over the 
hills. The generals and the colonels were engrossed 
in consultations, the captains and the lieutenants were 


loudoun’s way of making war. 77 

swearing at the sergeants and the corporals, the ser- 
geants and the corporals were swearing at the privates, 
the privates were swearing at the horses and the oxen, 
which, being unable to swear at all, had perforce to 
take it in silence. 

But there was a pleasure in all this noise and work. 
We felt that we were doing something at last, that the 
enemy no longer had a monopoly of activity and ac- 
complishment. There was an end to dumb sloth, and 
we talked confidently of victory and glory. 

In the course of these activities I saw something 
of Spencer and Graham. I did not seek them, but in 
the close quarters of the camp it was not possible to 
avoid them. Spencer was stiff, but not discourteous. 
Graham was inclined to be more open. He seemed 
even to seek my friendship, complimenting me upon 
my success in the duel, and asking many questions 
about the colonies in a tone less patronizing than he 
had assumed at first. Culverhouse told me that de- 
spite his faults he was a good soldier, and such I found 
his reputation to be in the camp. 

We were doomed to alternations of hope and dis- 
appointment. The days passed, and we were still 
camped in the city. All our bustle and our toil seemed 
to come to naught. The army was like a wagon mired 
deep in the mud. We could not budge it. The fault 
was with* the driver, Culverhouse said. I knew that 
he meant Loudoun, and I knew also that what he said 
was true. All this time tales of the bloody atrocities 
committed by the enemy on the frontier were coming 
to us, and it seemed that no real effort would ever be 
made to stop them. 

The de St. Maurs stayed on, for Loudoun was as 
lax in the matter of the prisoners as in other matters, 
and could not be induced to act. I had some oppor- 
tunities for seeing mademoiselle, and found her as 


78 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

superior in mind as in appearance. In truth, Marion 
would twit me about her almost every time we met, 
but I soon ceased to mind her banter, which I think 
had a little bit of spite in it, owing to the old truth 
that a pretty woman likes to keep all the men she 
knows at her feet. 

About a week after the duel I came down into the 
city in the lack of anything else to do, and spent a 
half hour at the Royal Exchange watching the mer- 
chants and agents, who knew how to make the most 
of time, and wasted no hours. Martin Groot was 
there, and perforce I endured his gibes at the military 
people, knowing that they were so well deserved. 
Tiring of the place, I walked toward Broadway, and on 
the way I saw some boys — and a few men, too, for the 
matter of that — following six British soldiers, who 
were marching two abreast in very precise style. 
Knowing that soldiers had ceased to be an object of 
curiosity in New York, I inquired of one of the civil- 
ians why he followed them. 

“ Why, they are going to be quartered on Herman 
Snell,” he said, seeming to be surprised that I did not 
know, “ and Herman says they shan’t come into his 
house.” 

I foresaw trouble at once. This quartering of sol- 
diers without law or reason upon private citizens was 
a very sore subject with our people, and Loudoun, 
with an affected contempt for the provinces, as he 
called them, had made himself especially offensive to 
us by more than once attempting such things. 

I followed, though at a distance, out of respect to 
my uniform, determined to see the end of it, for I knew 
Herman Snell was not a man to submit easily. 

Snell had a square, solid brick house on Broadway, 
and when the soldiers approached he was sitting in 
the open doorway smoking his Dutch pipe, his ample 


loudoun’s way of making war. 79 

proportions filling up all the passage. Though I 
guessed that some one had given him warning, he paid 
no attention until they had halted abruptly at his door 
step and let their musket butts clank upon the stones. 

“This is Mr. Herman Snell?” said the leader of 
the soldiers. 

“ Since you say so, my friend, it must be so,” re- 
plied the Dutchman, taking a long whiff at his pipe. 

“Then it is so, is it not?” returned the corporal 
impatiently. 

“ It is so,” said Snell. 

“We are directed by the commander in chief to 
quarter ourselves in your house,” said the corporal. 

“ It’s against the law,” said Snell. 

“ It’s the earl’s orders,” said the corporal, who 
seemed to be a stubborn fellow. 

“ I’m no soldier,” he replied, taking a long whiff 
at his pipe, “ and the earl’s orders don’t apply to me.” 

The sergeant hesitated, evidently waiting for Her- 
man to get out of the way. But the broad-bodied 
Dutchman remained in the passage and smoked on. 

“ Will you let us in, or must we come by force? ” 
asked the sergeant at last. 

“ This is my house,” said Snell, “ and you have 
no right to enter it.” 

The contention had caused quite a crowd to gather, 
and one and all were with Snell. They began to groan 
and hoot, which incensed the sergeant very much, and 
urged him on to his task. He advanced as if he would 
enter by force. I saw no way for him to do it except 
by cutting down Snell, and I hastened forward to pre- 
vent bloodshed if I could. I asked the sergeant to 
go away and report that he had been denied entrance 
at Snell’s house. He respected my superior uniform, 
but insisted upon obedience to his orders. 

I had drawn him down the steps that I might talk 


80 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

to him, and he turned again to enter, followed- by the 
other soldiers. A great uproar arose in the crowd. 
Gravel and pebbles were thrown, and I looked for a 
dangerous riot when a strong voice was heard de- 
manding order, and I saw Mayor John Cruger push- 
ing his way through the crowd. His appearance was 
in the nick of time, for the crowd could not refuse him 
respect and the soldiers might listen to him when they 
would not listen to me. 

“ What is the matter, Herman? ” he asked of Snell, 
who was holding his fat pipe meditatively in his hand. 

“ These soldiers wish to take charge of my house 
contrary to law,” replied Herman. 

The mayor looked inquiringly at me, and I ex- 
plained in detail. He warmly espoused the cause of 
Herman, who, he said, was entirely within his rights. 
By taking the burden of the matter upon himself, he 
induced the sergeant to return with his men to the 
British camp, and they went away, leaving Snell 
smoking his pipe in triumph in his undefiled doorway. 

I heard of several other such incidents, and they 
were not calculated to soothe the increasing hatred 
our people felt toward Loudoun, who was proving 
himself almost as great a plague as the French, with- 
out their excuse. It seemed that he wished to irritate 
us to the utmost, and to prove to himself and his kind, 
if not to us, the superiority of the English over their 
American descendants. This, I take it, is a poor way 
of treating your allies in war, and, as I have said be- 
fore, led in the end to great consequences. 

Loudoun’s temper was not improved by the sharp 
comments upon his course which appeared from time 
to time in the Post Boy and Gazette and Mercury, 
where one could see now and then some smart epi- 
grams and allusions, the meaning of which no one mis- 
took. Loudoun would foam at the mouth at reading 


Loudoun’s way of making war. 8i 

them, so it was said, and would threaten loudly to de- 
stroy the presses and type and imprison the editors. 
But he never dared attempt the execution of his threat, 
for the liberty of the printing press had been estab- 
lished in the great Zenger trial, of which all people 
in New York had heard. In truth, I enjoy a good 
smart gibe myself in the newspapers when it is at the 
expense of somebody else, and so, I believe, do most 
other people. Several times did I enter a coffeehouse 
to see a crowd of a score or more, some of them most 
substantial citizens, all listening with great enjoyment 
to the reading of a newspaper which contained a joke 
or pasquinade leveled at Loudoun or his panders. 
Now and then the English officers themselves would 
share in the sport, though those things caused at least 
seven duels that autumn between Americans and Eng- 
lishmen. 

But Loudoun went on his luxurious way. The 
report that Montcalm was advancing on Albany 
proved to be false, and we were saved that disgrace, 
at least. But it was wholly true that Webb had aban- 
doned the defense of the border. In fact, he came 
down to New York and joined Loudoun in his dissi- 
pations and debaucheries. Every day almost we heard 
tales of awful atrocities from the frontier, how entire 
families had been destroyed by the Indians, but Lou- 
doun and Webb and the army stayed on in New York. 
The two generals played cards and drank wine at a 
prodigious rate, and the city was gay with concerts, 
theatrical performances smacking much of the wicked- 
ness of the Old World, assemblies, balls, and all other 
forms of entertainment good or bad that idleness and 
wealth could devise. On all sides it was said that it 
was the gayest and most corrupt season ever known in 
New York. 




CHAPTER VIII. 

A FEAST AND A STORM. 

It was not in nature for us who were very young 
to refrain from our share in these festivities, however 
much one might condemn them as out of place. In 
truth, the only choice left us was either to join in them 
or mope alone. I did each at times, and about a week 
after my duel, the subject having been well-nigh for- 
gotten in the rush of gayety, Culverhouse came to me 
and asked me to make one of a party at a turtle feast 
at Cotton’s Inn, on the East River, a species of enter- 
tainment very popular at the time, and one from which 
I have often derived much enjoyment. 

“ Only one condition is put upon you,” said Culver- 
house, “ and it is that you bring a fair partner. Every 
one is expected to contribute his or her share to the 
gayety of the entertainment.” 

I accepted both the invitation and the condition 
with great readiness, and bethought me of Marion as 
my possible partner if I could escape the vigilant eye 
of her father, who seemed to be as sure as ever that I 
deserved watching. But second thought convinced 
me such action would not be right; I ought to be 
open in all that I did. I decided to ask Mile, de 
St. Maur, and was glad that I had come to such 
decision. 

Mile, de St. Maur was quite willing, nay, de- 
lighted, she said. How could a young girl to whom 
82 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 


83 


the way was opened refuse to take part in the gayeties 
going on about her? And the seigneur, whose posi- 
tion had grown most unpleasant, and whom our gen- 
erals had begun to treat in some sort as a kind of 
privileged spy, though it was wholly Loudoun’s fault 
that he remained so long, seemed pleased at my atten- 
tion to his daughter, and consented that she should 
go. He was willing for once to forego his strict 
French notions of propriety and let her make one of 
the party, since Mrs. Kennedy was to accompany us 
and have Mile, de St. Maur in her especial charge. 

Mile, de St. Maur and I rode together down 
Queen Street to the rendezvous, Mrs. Kennedy, 
who was not so strict as the seigneur, saying nothing 
against it. As we passed the houses of our aristocracy 
along this fashionable avenue I could see more than 
one fair face at the window gazing at us. I will admit 
that I felt a certain pride, for, as I have hinted already, 
Mile, de St. Maur was no ordinary girl in ap- 
pearance, and on horseback she looked particularly 
well. I might as well say at this very point that our 
girls that season showed considerable jealousy of 
Mile, de St. Maur, of which they should have been 
ashamed, for she was in a measure our guest. I had 
heard of the spiteful remark made by several that she 
ought to be in Quebec with her own people, where she 
belonged. But she was very beautiful, and women 
are women the world over. 

The rendezvous was at Governor de Lancey’s ele- 
gant country seat on the Bowery Road, where we 
found a fine company of some forty persons had gath- 
ered. Governor de Lancey himself had just come 
from the city in the great state which was his custom. 
It had been an official visit of much importance, and 
he rode in his gilded chariot drawn by four snow-white 
horses, with outriders in brilliant livery. 


84 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


He seemed somewhat oppressed by the cares of 
state which were weighing very heavily then upon 
the important men of the colony, but he showed much 
gayety when he saw us. The Revolution has come, 
and we look at men and affairs in a manner somewhat 
different from that of the old days, but I shall not 
undertake to pass any criticism upon Governor de 
Lancey. His enemies say that he was haughty, arro- 
gant, and intolerable; his friends say that he was the 
best of comrades, genial, self-sacrificing, and a lover of 
his country. All I know is that he was a man of great 
spirit, wit, culture, and strength, and as I was neither 
an adherent of the house of de Lancey nor of the rival 
house of Livingston, but kept my own counsel and 
followed my own course, I think I can speak with a 
fair degree of impartiality. 

He took us down a leafy, shaded avenue to his 
house, a noble structure of brick, three stories in 
height. He served us with lemon punch, showed us 
his pictures and works of sculpture, many of them 
from the best masters of Europe, and sent us on our 
way, saying, with a bit of a sigh, that he wished he was 
as young as we were, and could go with us and enjoy 
the minutes as they passed, instead of grubbing over 
dry orders and reports and seeking to provide for the 
future. 

About half of us were on horseback and the re- 
mainder in Italian chaises, a gentleman and lady in each 
chaise, and our programme was to take luncheon to- 
gether at noon at Cotton’s Inn, do some idle fishing 
in the East River in the afternoon, varied with tea 
drinking and card playing at the inn if we felt like it, 
a dinner afterward, and then a pleasant ride home in 
the cool of the evening. 

It was near the close of September, and it had been 
warm in the city, where the houses are so tall as to 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 


85 


shut off the air, many of them being a full three stories 
in height. It had been very close and heavy, too, 
making the breathing difficult, but after we had come 
upon the Bowery Road we found a breeze blowing 
which made it more pleasant, and the coolness in- 
creased as we rode northward past the marshes and 
meadows and ponds and outcroppings of rock which 
cover so much of the central part of our island. Very 
valuable some of this land is, too, for farming pur- 
poses, owing to its contiguity to the city and its easy 
reach, therefore, of a great market. In truth, there are 
many so sanguine of our city’s future that they pre- 
dict its encroachment some day upon these farms. 
But, while I am proud of New York, and confident 
of its increasing greatness, I can scarce subscribe to 
so much as that. 

Mile, de St. Maur and I had dropped back 
a little behind the crowd. There was a great clatter 
| of talk and flurry of laughter ahead of us, but the 
; others, being fully occupied with themselves, paid no 
attention to us, nor did we to them. As I had ex- 
j pected, Marion came with Spencer, and they were 
[ near the head of the party. 

I was acting the part of guide and instructor to 
mademoiselle, describing this and that object of in- 
terest, when a man came out of some woods at the 
roadside and looked very fixedly at us two. He was a 
mean-looking fellow, ill clad, and I thought his stare 
impertinent. I was preparing to bid him begone about 
his business when I noticed a great look of surprise, 
mingled with some alarm, upon Mile, de St. Maur’s 
face. She gazed at the fellow, who returned her look 
for a few moments, then turned and walked carelessly 
into the woods. 

“ He seemed to know you,” I said to mademoi- 
selle. 


86 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ He does know me, unless I am greatly mistaken 
in the person,” she replied quite frankly, “ but I never 
expected to see him here.” 

I was silent for a little while. I had some curiosity 
on the subject, but it was contrary to courtesy for me to 
question her. She turned to me presently. 

“ You do not ask me who he is? ” she said. 

“ No, I have not,” I replied. 

“ Then do not do so,” she said very earnestly. “ If 
anything should come of that man’s presence here, 
do not think that I or my father had any connection 
with it. I did not know until a quarter of an hour ago 
that he was here, and my father does not know it yet. 
We owe you for kindnesses, let us owe you for one 
more.” 

I do not like mysteries, but, looking into Louise 
de St. Maur’s beautiful and frank face, and into her 
eyes as honest as the sunshine, I knew that she was 
telling the absolute truth. So, putting it into as com- 
plimentary words as I could, I said I would believe no 
evil of the Seigneur of St. Maur or his daughter. 

We increased our pace and rejoined the others, for 
we had no wish to cause remark. Yet Marion, who 
was in most becoming attire, and was perhaps the 
second handsomest in the party, gave me several saucy 
glances, which I endured with a fair degree of equa- 
nimity. Our girls still showed the little jealousy of 
Mile, de St. Maur to which I have alluded, and, being 
her cavalier, I exerted myself to find her agreeable 
attentions besides my own, which I hope were not dis- 
agreeable, Culverhouse and young James de Lancey, 
the same who afterwards behaved so gallantly in the 
campaigns, assisting me. 

One holds the bright days of one’s early youth — 
the days of youth are not all bright by any means — 
in tender memory, and this was one of the brightest of 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 


87 


mine. A smart breeze from the East River drove 
away the heat and gave the air the crisp, sparkling 
flavor of early autumn which is so inspiring to heart 
and brain. The brown foliage fluttered and rustled, 
and as we rode along we caught glimpses of the river, 
a perfect blue under a perfect blue sky. The war had 
closed for me for the day. 

Cotton’s place was very old. It is said that Peter 
Stuyvesant built the house generations ago as a place 
for trade with the Indians, but it had been used many 
years now for turtle feasts and other such entertain- 
ments. If there was any man who knew more and 
better ways than old Tom Cotton of serving crab and 
lobster and oysters and every kind of fish, he was not 
to be found along our coast. 

Our day passed most pleasantly and rapidly. 
Sometimes I was in the inn, partaking of the tea which 
the ladies poured, and of which I am not overfond, 
and sometimes I was in a boat fishing with Mile, de St. 
Maur or some other. 

Toward evening the air grew heavy and warm 
again. It seemed to be full of damp, and the clouds 
gathered fast. The sultry conditions portended a 
storm, and we broke up our party in a hurry. Those 
in the chaises started first, and drove toward the city 
as fast as the nature of the road would permit. I was 
assisting Mile, de St. Maur upon her horse when 
Marion and Spencer galloped past us, and bade us 
hurry if we expected to reach the city before the storm 
burst. Mademoiselle looked around for Mrs. Ken- 
nedy, but that lady seemed to have overlooked her 
charge in the confusion of the moment. At least we 
did not see her. 

Off rattled the chaises, with those on horseback fol- 
lowing behind, and Mile, de St. Maur and I last. We 
soon saw that we had need to hurry, for the skies were 


88 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


blackening at a prodigious rate, and the increasing 
dampness of the air betokened the speedy arrival of 
rain. 

We became a flying procession. On we went at a 
gallop through the fields and among the -woods of 
maple and spruce and hickory. The air was very close 
and heavy. In the southwest the clouds were black- 
est, and presently the lightning began to flash there, 
followed by the heavy, threatening rumble of the dis- 
tant thunder. 

The approach of night, combined with the clouds, 
created a twilight darkness, and the head of our flying 
column became invisible. Presently the southwest 
began to moan, and I knew it was the signal of the 
coming shower. The rain streaks appeared across 
the sky, and the leaves rustled before the rush of wind 
which brought the rain with it. A cooling breath came 
through the hot air, and a whiff of rain struck us. I 
saw a great tree well foliaged beside the road, and I 
suggested to mademoiselle that we stop under it for 
shelter. I shouted to the others to stop there also, 
but they must have failed to hear me, for when we 
halted under the tree we saw the last couple dis- 
appearing around a curve of the road ahead of 
us. 

But I considered that we were more lucky than 
they. The rain came with a swoop and a dash, the 
first drops pattering on the earth like bullets and kick- 
ing up the dust in little clouds, which the next drops 
drove back to the earth and turned into mud. Over- 
head the leaves rattled under the shower, but we were 
dry for the present. 

They have left us, mademoiselle,” I said, which 
was a self-evident fact. 

“ You h ave a pleasant life here,” she said. 

“ New York is a gay town,” I replied'. 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 89 

“ The brown-haired lady, Miss Arthur, is very 
pretty,” she said. 

“ Yes,” I said, wondering why she should take up 
the subject, “ Marion is a very pretty girl, and she’s 
my kinswoman, third or fourth cousin, I’ve never fig- 
ured out exactly which.” 

“ I’ve heard that she’s to be much more nearly 
related to you,” she said. “ I congratulate you, Lieu- 
tenant Charteris.” 

“ Nothing of the kind,” I said in great haste. 
“ Marion and I are old playfellows, and we like each 
other a great deal, but not that way. Her father hates 
the sight of me, and, besides, I think she is beginning 
to look with favor upon Spencer, with whom I fought 
a duel once.” 

“ I heard about that,” she said. “ You disarmed 
him.” 

“ Luck more than skill,” I replied. 

Then she turned the conversation to other matters, 

| but she was very lively and bright. She told me of 
her life in Canada, in Quebec, and in the country, her 
education at a convent in France, and her visit to the 
great and fashionable world of Paris with her father. 
I was interested so deeply that I scarce noticed the 
violence of the rain and the increasing darkness. The 
water at last found its way through the foliage and 
sprinkled us both. I suggested that we dismount and 
stand against the trunk of the tree for protection, but 
this, too, soon failed. All the foliage of the tree was 
soaked, and it dripped water steadily. 

“ Mademoiselle,” I said, “ we must abandon our 
tree and get back to the city somehow. Are you 
afraid of a wetting?” 

“ I’ve spent half my life in the Canadian woods,” 
she said, “ and it wouldn’t become me to fear a little 


9 o 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


If it did not become her, it certainly would not 
become me, and, assisting her upon her horse, I 
mounted mine, and we rode on. The rain, instead of 
coming in sudden bursts and puffs, had settled into a 
steady downpour, which, however, was none the less 
wetting. We plodded along, trying to keep our backs 
to it. Riders and horses were soaked, but Mile. Louise 
was cheerful, and appeared to look upon it as an ad- 
venture worth the telling afterward. I shouted several 
times for the others, but they seemed to have gone too 
far ahead to hear us. 

The rain decreased presently and the clouds began 
to clear away, but we could not see either our com- 
rades or any human habitation. I noticed, however, 
in the darkness that we had wandered from the road, 
and were following a sort of foot path. It seemed to 
lead in the right direction, and Mile. Louise and I 
whipped up our horses, anxious to reach the city 
and dry clothing as soon as possible. Twenty yards 
farther on the path ended at a marsh, entirely too black 
and too muddy to be entered. There was nothing 
for us to do but to turn back or seek a way through 
the woods at the imminent risk of having our eyes 
scratched out by low boughs. 

“This is your country; what are you going to 
do? ” asked mademoiselle with a droll look. 

I was lost, and I did not like to confess it, but I 
knew that she knew it. It hurt my pride to be lost 
on Manhattan Island, with whose woods and hills 
and marshes I thought I was so thoroughly ac- 
quainted. I was sorry that we had not passed the 
tree and gone on with the others. The water was 
dripping from both of us, and our discouraged horses 
hung down their heads and breathed wearily. 

“ I think we had better ride back to the road,” I 
said. 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 


91 


Back we went, but the road seemed to have dis- 
appeared. The path merely wound around through 
the woods, and then abutted again upon a marsh. . 

“ I may have lost all idea of direction,” I said des- 
perately, “ but at least I have my voice left.” 

I shouted again and again as loud as I could, but 
no reply came. The water dripped .from the rain- 
soaked trees to the muddy earth, and the frogs in the 
new pools began to croak. I looked out of the corner 
of my eye at Mile, de St. Maur to see what she thought 
of me, but I could see no expression of derision on 
her face. I was humble, and she was considerate. In 
my heart I cursed the old Dutchmen who had laid 
off the cow paths through this part of the island, 
making them twist and curve and end nowhere, 
just as they make their long pipe stems twist and 
curve. 

“ There is one thing sure, mademoiselle,” I said 
' contritely, “ this is an island, and if we keep on riding 
straight ahead we are bound to come some time to the 
sea somewhere.” 

| “ Suppose we try it,” she said. 

I fixed upon the direction in which I thought the 
city lay, and we urged our tired horses forward. We 
| were not even in a path, but splashed sometimes 
through marsh and then pressed through thick-grown 
bushes. At last I saw water shining through trees, 
and I concluded that I had missed my course a little 
and come out on the North River. 

: When we rode up to the water, I found that it 

was only a big pond, but it brought my wits back to 
me, for I knew it. It was the great pond on the Rose- 
hill farm of John Watts, the same who was the brother- 
in-law of Governor de Lancey. I had skated on it 
many a time, and over there beside it stretched the 
ipost road. Beyond I could see the long avenue of 
7 


92 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

elm trees leading to Mr. Watts’s country house. I had 
found myself, and I announced the fact joyfully to 
Mile, de St. Maur, who, I have no doubt, was as glad 
as I, even though she had spent half her life in the 
Canadian woods. | 

We had now' only to turn into the post road and 
follow it to the city. We were wet through, and 
splashed with mud to boot, and right glad we were to 
see the friendly lights of New York, though we had 
the consolation the next day of knowing that many of 
our comrades had fared no better. 

It was somewhat late when we reached Mr. Ken- 
nedy’s home on Broadway, where the de St. Maur’s 
were yet guests, but the lights were still twinkling for 
us, as Mrs. Kennedy and some others who had gone 
from the same house had arrived before us. The sei- 
gneur helped to receive us with an anxiety relieved by 
our arrival. But I do not think he would have allowed 
his daughter to go to a turtle feast again without his 
own company. 

I bade them good night, and remounted my horse 
to ride to my quarters and dry clothing. 

As I passed the corner I saw a man leaning against 
the fence. The light from one of the street lanterns 
fell on his face, and I recognized him at once as the 
fellow who had startled Mile, de St. Maur in the morn- 
ing. He had passed completely out of my mind dur- 
ing the day, but his reappearance in the city aroused 
my curiosity. I had promised Mile, de St. Maur not 
to concern myself about him, but I thought it no harm 
to ask him what he was doing there, especially as his 
appearance was not encouraging. 

For reply, he gave me an evil look, and bade me 
go about my business. 

I warned him that the stocks were for such as he, 
and rode on. But I could not dismiss him again from 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 


93 


my mind so readily. He had spoken with a foreign 
accent, and, putting that and Mile, de St. Maur’s 
knowledge of him together, I concluded that he was a 
French spy, not that I believed for a moment in the 
complicity of the de St. Maurs. 

I thought over the matter much on my way to my 
quarters. I decided that I would say nothing and 
keep a watch for the fellow. After all, what harm 
could a spy do us? There was nothing for him to learn 
about our army, except what all the world knew — 
namely, that we were lounging our time away. If he 
could count our numbers and find out how many can- 
non and rifles and pounds of powder and lead we had, 
so could any street boy in New York. 

Beyond that the general in chief himself seemed 
to know nothing. 

I was wet, and my bones were stiffening, but my 
first duty was to my horse. I took him to the little 
stable in the rear of my quarters and fed him, return- 
ing thence in order that I might do as much and more 
for myself. 

When I came to the front of the house, which 
stood a bit back from the sidewalk, I saw a man 
lounging in the street twenty or thirty yards away. 
His face was turned from me, but the figure was not 
altogether unfamiliar. I knew in a moment that it was 
the man whom Mile, de St. Maur and I had met in the 
wood, the same to whom I had spoken when I left 
the Kennedy house, the one who was so much upon 
my mind just then. I had marked him well, and I 
was sure. 

If I had been older, less given to the imagination 
and impulse of youth, I would have gone into the 
house and to bed, leaving the man to take care of 
himself and to do as he chose. But I did the other. 
I believed that this man was following and watching 


94 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


me, and I felt a certain anger because of it. Moreover, 
my curiosity was raised to a great pitch. 

Without hesitation I opened the gate, entered the 
street, and walked toward him. But he slipped away 
from me, and when I increased my gait he increased 
his to the same degree. Other people were in the 
streets, for since the war and the coming of the sol- 
diers ours had grown to be an ungodly town, and 
people were not always in bed at proper hours. They 
paid no attention either to me or to the man whom I 
was pursuing. 

The fellow led me such a dance that I was on the 
point of abandoning the pursuit as not worth the while. 
I stopped, but he stopped, too, and looked back at me. 
The distance was not too great to show me when I 
saw his face that I was right in taking him to be the 
spy, for such I had mentally called him. 

His manner indicated a desire to lead me on, and, 
seeing it, I was nothing loath. I could not divine his 
purpose, but I had sufficient interest now to follow 
up the matter and see. When I started he started 
also, and on we went again. He looked back pres- 
ently as if to make sure that I was following, and 
then turned into Broad Street, walking toward its foot. 
On the way I passed old Peter Vlieck, one of the night 
watchmen, a big, heavy fellow whom I knew. But 
he stalked solemnly up the street, looking straight 
ahead of him, in search of what wickedness I knew 
not, and paid no attention to me. 

At the foot of the street, and directly in front of 
my man, was the Royal Exchange, looking very large 
and solemn in the dusk. The open lower floor within 
the arches, so busy, so full of life by day, was deserted 
and still. Turning back one more look to see that I 
was there, my man left the. street and walked under 
one of the arches. This, as plain as day, was an invita- 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 95 

tion to a meeting, an interview, or something, and 
without delay I followed. 

He had gone to the far side of the space, and was 
leaning against the brickwork of one of the arches. 
He made no effort to conceal his features, but, owing 
to the poorness of the light, I could not see them very 
distinctly. 

“ You have been following me,” he said, “ and now 
you have overtaken me. What do you want?” 

I was not at all sure what I wanted, or that I 
wanted anything at all, so I replied: 

“ If I have followed you, you followed me first; 
it’s merely making things even.” 

He uttered some impatient exclamation, and de- 
manded again my business with him. I thought it 
best to keep cool, so I also leaned negligently against 
one of the arches. 

“ One thing I had in mind when I followed you,” 
I said, “ was to ask you what progress you are mak- 
ing in your business.” 

“What business?” he asked. 

“ Spying, seeking information about the English 
that you can take to your comrades the French.” 

“ You guess well, Lieutenant Charteris. That’s 
my occupation.” 

“ It seems a waste of energy and useless risk of 
one’s life.” 

“ Perhaps it is. It was hardly worth while for me 
to come to New York for information about your 
armies, but I have friends, dear friends, here whom I 
wished to see.” 

“Who?” I asked. 

“ Oh, there may be many,” he replied carelessly, 
“ the names of whom I will not tell, but I might 
mention, for instance, the Seigneur and Mile, de St. 
Maur.” 


9<5 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ Mile, de St. Maur may know you,” I replied. “ In 
fact, I have every reason to think that she does, but I 
have equal reason also to think that she does not like 
you.” 

“ Don’t be too sure of that,” he replied. “ I may 
be much more to Mile, de St. Maur and Mile, de St. 
Maur may be much more to me than you think. 

I dislike mystery and anything savoring of it. 
Moreover, the man’s manner was insulting, as doubt- 
less he intended it to be. 

“ My friend,” I said, “ I don’t know your name, but 
I take you to be a spy, your own admission being 
such, and it seems to me you are rather reckless. All 
I have to do is to give an alarm, and you will be seized 
and hanged by the neck until you are dead, as the 
judges say.” 

“ But you won’t do that.” 

“ Why?” 

“ I am the friend of the Seigneur and Mile, de St. 
Maur. My arrest would put them in a most serious 
position, for I would immediately assert their con- 
nivance in my visit here. You are not willing to have 
that happen, for you are in love with Mile, de St. Maur. 

I took thought a little. It is good to commune 
briefly with one’s self sometimes. 

“ My friend,” I said, “ you charge me with being 
in love with Mile, de St. Maur, and your tone in mak- 
ing the charge is that of a guardian or some such per- 
son. But a little while ago another man charged me 
with being in love with his daughter. To-morrow, I 
suppose, some third man will charge me with being 
in love with his stepsister or his maiden aunt. Am 
I supposed to fall in love with every woman I 
meet? ” 


“ That’s not my affair,” he replied. 


“ Only I ad- 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 97 

“ What if I don’t? ” I replied. My anger at his 
tone and manner was rising in spite of me. 

“This may help you,” he replied. 

I Without a warning the scoundrel drew a pistol from 
his pocket and fired at me. Instinct made me dodge as 
his finger approached the trigger, and the bullet struck 
the arch, though it whizzed unpleasantly near me. 

I drew my sword and slashed at him with all my 
might, for his treacherous attempt at murder was 
enough to infuriate even the meekest of human beings, 
and I did not claim to be such. But I only cut a gash 
in one of the bricks, for he had turned with great 
quickness, circled about, and sped up Water Street, 
which was but dimly lighted. 

I ran after him, but he had the start of me, and, 
moreover, proved to be a swifter runner than I. I saw 
in a moment that unless overtaken by some one else 
he would escape. I hesitated, and hesitating stopped. 
I had the de St. Maurs in mind. If he were captured, 
explanations would be necessary, and then he would 
probably keep his threats. After all, I had little com- 
plaint to make. His bullet had not touched me, and I 
did not see what particular harm he could do us in 
New York, spy about though he might both by night 
and by day. 

I heard excited voices and the noise of approach- 
ing footsteps, attracted by the shot. I made up my 
mind in half a minute. I turned and ran back toward 
the Royal Exchange. Just as I reached the nearest 
arch I saw the burly form of Peter Vlieck. He had 
thrust his face far out, as if that would help him to look 
through the dusk, and I knew he was trying to find 
the cause of the shot. I rushed up to him and seized 
him with both hands. 

“ Thank heaven, the bullet did not hit you! ” I ex- 
claimed. “What a lucky escape!” 


98 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

He recognized me, but looked bewildered. 

“ A lucky escape, you say! What do you mean? ” 
he cried. 

“ Are you sure he did not hit you? Do you feel 
no wound? ” I cried, kneading my hands into his shoul- 
ders and pudgy arms. “ No,” I continued, “ I see no 
wound there. And at short range, too! What luck! 
The city could ill afford to spare such a man as you, 
Mynheer Vlieck.” 

I continued to feel for a wound, and Vlieck grew 
alarmed. I discovered blood on his coat, and then I 
discovered that I was mistaken. But his alarm in- 
creased visibly. 

“ Have I been shot at? Has somebody been try- 
ing to kill me? ” he gasped. 

“An attempted assassination!” I cried in excited 
tones. “ One of the boldest ever heard of, and right 
here, too, in the shadow of this palace devoted to com- 
merce and peace. But it was like you, Mynheer 
Vlieck, to think little of yourself and seek the criminal 
even at the further risk of your life! ” 

He straightened up, and his chest swelled. Other 
people were arriving now. 

“ He stood here in the shadow of this arch,” I 
continued, “ and I saw his pistol leveled, but I could 
not warn you in time. He fired. I ran after him, but 
he escaped up Broad Street, and i returned, fearing 
that I would find you dead, and instead I find you 
seeking him everywhere.” 

The warlike old watchman’s eyes flamed with pride. 
He looked around at the admiring crowd. 

“ I heard his bullet whizz,” he said, “ and I con- 
fess that for the moment I was startled. But I, too, 
pursued him, and I would have overtaken him had 
not my bulk unfortunately interfered with rapid pur- 
. suit.” 


A FEAST AND A STORM. 99 

“ Are you sure that you are not wounded? Look 
again ! ” I asked anxiously. 

Two or three of the crowd assisted in the examina- 
tion, and then it was shown conclusively that the bullet 
had missed him. As the Weekly Post Boy said in its 
next issue: “The darkness made the assassin’s aim 
uncertain, and our brave and worthy watchman was 
spared for future usefulness. There is no doubt that 
the villain was one of the lawless camp followers whom 
our watchmen have had to repress with so strong a 
hand, and who wanted revenge.” 

I left the good Peter swelling and strutting and 
surrounded by his admiring friends, and went home 
after the dry clothing and rest that I needed so badly. 

I preserved absolute silence about the adventure 
at the Royal Exchange, even to Mile, de St. Maur. 

| I watched for the spy, but the days passed, and I saw 
! no more of him. 

A short while later I heard that the matter of the 
prisoners had been brought to a head at last, and that 
the de St. Maurs were about to depart, going by the 
way of Albany, and thence into the French lines. 
There was nothing against the seigneur, though he 
had been treated suspiciously, and our commander in 
chief had to let him go. I was present when they de- 
parted in their coach. 

“ Mademoiselle,” I said, “ I trust that you will not 
forget us when we come to Quebec.” 

“ You will come only as prisoners,” she said with 
a flash of French pride. 

Culverhouse and I and some others of equal age 
gave them escort as far as Kingsbridge, for we owed all 
courtesy and protection to the strangers within our 
gates, even though they were of the enemy. When we 
left them and waved them our final salutes, Culver- 
house and I rode away together. 


100 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“A fine girl and a fine old man,” said Culver- 
house. 

I was silent, but in silence I agreed with him. 

We went back to camp and the old idleness and 
dreary waiting. Thus a long time passed. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE RESULT OF A TRIAL. 

Culverhouse and I were roused one morning 
from a state of dejection by Graham, who approached 
us with a bustling air that indicated important news, 
ripe for the telling. He gave us the gist of the matter 
at once. Mr. Pitt had become prime minister, and the 
King’s forces in America would be roused from dis- 
graceful slumber. Mr. Pitt’s name was guarantee of 
that. 

Graham surmised also that Loudoun had let slip 
his opportunities, that his day in America was done. 
This we found to be a very safe conclusion, for it was 
soon known that he had been recalled, and when at 
last he departed he was unregretted by all save a few 
companions of his pleasures. Of his successor, Gen- 
eral Abercrombie, many had high hopes. 

When these changes had been made, there was no 
longer any doubt that we would start soon for the 
north. In the bustle of preparation I met Marion in 
the city. I told her that we would march in three days. 
She wished me luck, and that I might come back a 
general, and we parted like brother and sister. Marion 
was a good girl, and had little of her father’s sour 
nature. As in duty bound, I paid my farewell respects 
to Mr. Arthur also. In the quarrels that had arisen 
between the English and the Americans during Lou- 
doun’s occupation he had become more English than 

IOI 


102 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

ever, and there was no improvement in the feeling 
which we held toward each other. He was very chilly, 
and trusted that I would not forget my duty to my 
King. I responded that I would not, nor would I 
forget my duty to my colony either. My tone indi- 
cated that, while I mentioned the colony last, I con- 
sidered it first. He understood it so, and turned ' 
abruptly to his desk, resuming some writing upon ij 
which he had been engaged when I entered. So I left 
him. After many mighty heaves and false starts, the 
army put itself in motion at last, and in time we reached 
Albany, upon which we fell like a plague, though, to 
tell the truth, a part of our forces had been there a 
long time already, and the Dutchmen had grown some- 
what accustomed to them, just as we can learn to bear 
almost any evil. 

I knew many people in Albany, and there was 
ample opportunity to renew old acquaintances. But 
I heard at once of a matter that amazed and concerned 
me greatly. The seigneur and his daughter had gone 
no farther than Albany — in fact, were held there on a 
charge of conniving with a French spy who had been 
taken in the city, but had escaped a day later. I leaped 
at once to the conclusion that this spy was the mean- 
looking fellow whom Louise and I had seen in the 
city, but I was convinced as firmly as ever that neither 
she nor her father had any part in his actions. 

My first purpose was to see the seigneur and his 
daughter as soon as possible. I learned that they were 
kept in a kind of easy captivity at the house of one 
Philip Evertsen, a fur trader. I had sufficient influ- 
ence to procure an order admitting me to their pres- 
ence, and as soon as I could obtain leave I started 
to Evertsen’s house, near the fort on the hill behind 
the town. 

Albany interests me, and even then, with an anx- 


THE RESULT OF A TRIAL. 


103 


ious mind, I did not fail ‘to look about at what was 
passing. Nearly all our great expeditions against the 
French and the Indians of Canada have been fitted out 
at Albany, and the Dutch people had grown so famil- 
iar with the presence of soldiery that they continued 
the pursuit of shillings and pence with unbroken calm. 

I walked up the great street that ascended from 
the river to the fort, with its strips of grass and its 
busy life passing and repassing around the guard- 
house, the townhall, and the churches. Verily these 
worthy Dutchmen could instruct our own New York 
merchants in some of the arts of trade. The Iroquois 
used to complain that the Dutch managed to get their 
furs from them for nothing, and there were many 
quarrels about it. I won’t say that the Iroquois told 
falsehoods. 

The evening was almost at hand, and the day’s 
business- was subsiding. The rows of curious Dutch 
houses on either side, all with their gable ends to the 
street, and each with its grassy yard, its well, its neatly 
cultivated garden and great shade trees, looked very 
thrifty and comfortable. In the big front porch, of 
which each house had one, the women folks were gath- 
ering and talking from one house to another over the 
dividing fences. 

The cows which had been pasturing on the great 
common at the end of the town walked calmly down 
the street as they returned home in the evening, their 
: bells tinkling at their necks, caring nothing for the 
;| presence of the red-coated soldiers. 

Every cow stopped in front of the door of its owner, 
and there it was milked, the children sitting on the 
! steps, eager of eye, cup or porringer in hand, waiting 
for their share. Truly the Dutch, whatever may be 
: their faults — and they may be much less than those 
; of some other people — know how to live. 


104 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

I heard the evening trumpets from the fort, and 
the twilight was at hand when I reached Evertsen’s 
house. Two soldiers stood guard at the door, but my 
written order passed me in without trouble. By the 
Dutch handmaiden who received me I sent my com- 
pliments to the Seigneur de St. Maur and his daughter, 
and requested the honor of seeing them. I waited with 
eagerness in the little Dutch parlor, for it had been a 
long time now since I had seen Louise de St. Maur. 
She came alone, saying that her father was taking a 
walk with his friendly jailer, Mr. Evertsen. She was 
as beautiful as ever, more so to me, and when she gave ! 
me her hand she smiled so warmly that I knew she 
looked upon me as a good friend in a hostile land. 

I told her of those whom she had known in New York, 
and then I asked about the detention of her father and 
herself in Albany. I felt that I knew her well enough 
to put such a question. 

“ It was by order of General Abercrombie,” she 
said. “ You will recall the man whom we saw in New 
York the day of the excursion and the storm. He was 
a Frenchman — a spy, as you have perhaps guessed. 

I knew him, but neither I nor my father had before 
known anything of his presence there. He was taken 
here, and escaped the next day, but he remained in 
captivity long enough to say that he knew us. Since 
then suspicion has been directed against us, and Gen- 
eral Abercrombie has refused to pass us through his 
lines to our own people. He says he will dispose of 
us after he has disposed of Montcalm.” 

Then she added with a sparkle of patriotic fire: 

“A great army is gathered here, and they talk of 
beating the French as if it were already done. The 
English do not seem to learn from experience.” 

“ But the French can scarce expect to beat such 
an army as we have now,” I said. 


THE RESULT OF A TRIAL. 105 

The seigneur returned presently with Evertsen, 
and I found him as proud and as great a figure as 
ever, but his welcome to me was most gratifying. _ He 
made an amendment to his daughter’s statement that 
his case was not to be disposed of until after the cam- 
paign, as he had just received a message to appear 
before General Abercrombie on the following day. 

I bade them adieu, much moved by the injustice 
i of Abercrombie toward them, and resolved to assist 
them if I could find a way, though I was aware that 
any testimony I might give would be to their preju- 
dice instead of their favor, since I was the only posi- 
tive witness that Mile, de St. Maur had known of the 
spy’s presence in New York, and that she had seen 
him there. 

Nevertheless, I resolved to be present at the ex- 
amination of the seigneur, and I set about the task of 
managing it, which was not so difficult as it might 
have seemed. I discovered that General Abercrombie, 

! Lord Howe, who was second in command, and some 
| other distinguished officers were temporary guests at 
l the house of Mrs. Schuyler, in the meadows beyond 
the town, the same Mrs. Schuyler who was the aunt 
of our General Schuyler of the Revolution, and a very 
fine woman, too, as everybody said who knew her. 

Through my acquaintance with Mrs. Schuyler, and 
some social influence which I was able to exert in- 
directly, I procured an invitation to take luncheon 
with other officers at her house the next day. With 
the lax methods of discipline — or rather indiscipline, 
if I may coin such a word — prevailing among us, I 
thought by the use of a fair degree of wit I could pro- 
long my stay there throughout the afternoon. 

Upon arrival at Mrs. Schuyler’s at the appointed 
hour on the following day, I was introduced to General 
Abercrombie, whom I had seen before, but had never 


106 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

met. We had hoped much of him, and there had been 
great talk of his valor, skill, and force of mind, but 
the sight of him was never encouraging to me. He 
was heavy of both body and countenance. His face 
was puffed and inflamed with rich food and drink, 
and he had the droop of an old man, though he was 
but a year or two past fifty. It was said in Albany, 
so I soon heard, that he was perhaps a trifle less 
frivolous than Loudoun, but a better hand at the 
table. 

“ So you are coming with us to learn how war 
should be made,” he said to me with the lofty con- 
descension becoming a British general to a colonial 
subaltern. 

I said that I was, and humbly trusted that I would 
have some small part in the great events to come. 

“ You provincials may do well enough as scouts, 
guides, skirmishers, and that sort of thing,” he said, 
“ but when the heavy work comes I think that we will 
have to trust to the British bayonet.” 

He took a pinch of snuff and looked critically 
at me. 

I felt like telling him that it was bad policy to say 
such things to the provincials, who formed at least 
half his army. Even I, a subaltern, knew the folly of 
talk like that. But then the British were in the habit 
of saying them, although all the facts were against 
them, and they did not seem to care for the result. 

“ I think, general, that the lieutenant will be as 
sure to do his duty as if he were born and bred a 
Briton,” said a young man, stepping forward from a 
corner of the room, where I had not noticed him be- 
fore. 

His interposition in my behalf caused me to look 
at him with great interest, and my interest was in- 
creased by his frank manners, his fine, open face, the 


THE RESULT OF A TRIAL. 107 

kindliness of his eye, and his youth — he was only a 
year or two past thirty. 

It was my first meeting with Lord Howe, the one 
British general in that war who understood both Eng- 
lish and Americans, was loved by both, and who knew 
how to make use of both. How different things would 
have been years later had all the British officers then 
been such as he! 

General Abercrombie did not seem to resent Lord 
Howe’s interference. In fact, he let the earl have his 
way in military matters, which was the one piece of 
good sense that he showed. I heard afterward that 
Pitt intended Howe to be the real moving spirit of the 
campaign, prompting and directing the sluggish Aber- 
crombie. 

Abercrombie sauntered off to make gallant speeches 
to some of the ladies who were present, and Lord 
Howe, drawing me to a window, where we were a 
little apart from the others, began to question me about 
the troops who had arrived from New York, the feel- 
ing among the men and officers of my rank, their con- 
dition, and what they expected from the campaign. 
He showed so much understanding, and his manner 
was so sympathetic and so kind, that I was moved to 
make an appeal to him in behalf of the seigneur and 
his daughter. Though I omitted the meeting with the 
spy in New York, I told him I knew the de St. Maurs 
! well, and was confident the seigneur had not sought 
to abuse his mission into our colony and use it for 
any covert purposes. 

He listened to me very attentively. 

“You take much interest in them, do you not?” 
he asked. 

“Yes,” I replied. 

“ In which do you take the greater interest, the 
| seigneur or his daughter? ” 

8 


108 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN*. 

I was a trifle confused, but, as I saw a twinkle in 
his eye, 1 knew' there was no necessity for an answer. 
Then he added : 

“ This matter is to be disposed of by the general 
this afternoon before the council of the officers is held. 
It does not seem to me that there is proof upon which 
we can continue to hold the seigneur in violation of his 
safe conduct, though, of course, you will not quote me 
as saying so, as General Abercrombie is in supreme 
command here.” 

There was a great party at luncheon, mostly British, 
however. General Abercrombie found the wine good, * 
and showed his appreciation of it in large measure, 
wheieupon he grew very mellow, and when the gentle- 
men were alone in the parlor afterward told stories 
which it were better not to repeat. After a little of this, ! 
which went a long way, Lord Howe whispered some- 
thing to him, and he announced with pompous grav- j 
ity that the time for wit and humor had passed, and 
we must now dispose of a serious matter. I was by 
far the lowest in rank then in the room, but General 
Abercrombie made no objection to my presence. I 
suppose Lord Howe had prepared that for me. Then 
he dispatched a messenger for the seigneur, who came 
speedily, escorted by two soldiers. 

The soldiers stopped at the drawing-room door, 
and the seigneur entered, walking directly toward Gen- 
eral Abercrombie. He was the old lion all over, 
haughty and fierce, and looking much more fit to try I 
the general than the general was to try him. Lord 
Howe courteously invited him to take a seat. He de- 
clined at first, but when the earl insisted he accepted. 
He took no note of me, but he must have seen me. 

# General Abercrombie was yet mellow with his i 
wine, otherwise I doubt whether even he would have 1 
held this little court in such an informal manner. He 


THE RESULT OF A TRIAL. IO9 

stated in a rambling way that the Seigneur Raymond 
de St. Maur was accused of conniving with one Jean 
Leloir, a French spy who had been taken and escaped, 
but who before escaping had said he was a friend of 
the seigneur, then within the English lines on a mis- 
sion connected with exchange of prisoners. 

The seigneur, in a manner of the utmost coldness 
and haughtiness, said he knew no one named Jean 
Leloir, nor any spy of any name whatever; whereupon 
I assumed that the spy had given a false name, and 
that Mile. Louise had never told her father about the 
meeting. At the end of his denial the seigneur said 
that he made the statement voluntarily, that he did not 
recognize the right of the English commander in chief 
to detain him or to question him, inasmuch as he was 
within the lines by agreement of the hostile forces, 
and on an errand recognized by the military laws of 
all civilized nations. 

General Abercrombie flushed very red at the sting- 
ing and I think deserved reproach, and would have 
made some insulting answer, but his good mentor, 

; Lord Howe, was at his elbow, and restrained him. 
Instead, he asked him some questions about his move- 
ments at New York and Albany, to all of which the 
seigneur returned such prompt and clear answers that 
it was obvious to every mind present not muddled that 
he could have had no connection with the spy. 

General Abercrombie seemed to be disappointed. 
Lord Howe whispered to him, but he shook his head, 
and this time seemed bent upon having his way. He 
ordered that the seigneur be taken into an adjoin- 
ing room and be kept there for the present. The sei- 
gneur retired, his expression half amusement, half 
contempt. 

“ There is a lady, M. de St. Maur’s daughter, who 
is concerned in this case,” said General Abercrombie. 


I 10 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ We must have her testimony also. — Lord Howe, will I 
you send for her at once? ” 

The earl immediately turned to me and asked me 
to bring Mile, de St. Maur. I was grateful to him for j 
having chosen me, which I knew he had done from ; 
deliberation, but it was not a time or place to. thank 
him, and, as soon as I received the written order to 
the sentinel at the Evertsen house, I hurried away. 

I found mademoiselle somewhat anxious over the 
result of the examination. I told her that her turn had 
come now, and bade her to be of courage, as we had a 
powerful friend in Lord Howe. But my attempt to 
animate her was not needed. She said with great 
spirit that if the English expected to win campaigns by 
such methods it did not become a Frenchman or a 
Frenchwoman to seek to prevent them. I perceived 
that she was a true daughter of France, and I was quite 
confident that she would be able to hold her own in 
the presence of Abercrombie and all # the others. 

We attracted attention as we walked through the 
streets, which contained much soldiery, including some 
officers, but, with mademoiselle upon my arm,- 1 passed 
them all, ignoring their looks. I escorted mademoi- 
selle directly to the drawing room where General 
Abercrombie and the others awaited her. Lord Howe 
was standing at a window, but he turned about the 
moment we entered, and I saw a look of admiration 
upon his face. He hastened forward to escort Mile, 
de St. Maur to a chair, and was of such exceeding 
courtesy that my liking for him, already strong, in- 
creased much. 

Most of the officers had withdrawn, but all present 
rose when she entered, except General Abercrombie. 

I supposed that he had forgotten the courtesy be- 
cause he had partaken so freely of the good wine. I 
gave him that much credit. , He was sitting in a great 


THE RESULT OF A TRIAL. I I I 

cushioned chair, with his face partly turned away from 
us, and did not seem to think it worth while to turn 
about when we entered. 

Lord Howe, with the same decision and kindliness, 
for which I again thanked him, took the matter in 
hand. He explained with the greatest courtesy that 
Mile, de St. Maur and her father were suspected of 
complicity with a French spy named Leloir, and Gen- 
eral Abercrombie was compelled to ask her some ques- 
tions. 

“ Very well,” said Louise with quite a haughty air. 
“ Ask them.” 

Lord Howe bent over General Abercrombie’s 
chair a moment, and then said: 

“ The general wishes to ask you, Mile, de St. Maur, 
if you know this man Jean Leloir? ” 

“ I do not know any Jean Leloir, nor had I ever 
heard the name until this charge was made against 
us,” she replied. 

General Abercrombie seemed satisfied, but the earl 
whispered to him a moment. Then he said: 

“ Your father has never spoken to you of knowing 
any one in Canada named Leloir? ” 

“ No.” 

“ No Frenchman in disguise has ever communi- 
cated with you or your father either in New York or 
Albany? ” 

“ No.” 

“ So far as you know, your father has confined him- 
self strictly to his legitimate errand — the exchange of 
prisoners? ” 

“ Yes.” 

All this was the strict truth. 

The earl whispered to the general again. I was 
devoutly thankful to him for prompting General 
Abercrombie so successfully. 


I 12 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ The general is satisfied with your replies and 
those of your father,” said the earl. “ He believes they 
are the truth, and regrets that the matter should have 
hung on so long and discommoded you so much.” 

“ I thank you and him, my lord,” said Mile. Louise. 

“ He asks me to say to you,” continued the earl, 
“ that your safe conduct will be renewed at once, and 
you will be passed, as soon as you wish within the 
French lines.” 

“ I thank you again, my lord,” said Louise with a 
bright smile. 

“ Lieutenant Charteris,” said the earl, turning to 
me, “ you will assist in carrying out General Aber- 
crombie’s wishes and orders by escorting Mile, de St. 
Maur and her father to their quarters. See that they 
receive every attention in Mr. Evertsen’s power.” 

I rose to cross the room and carry out my orders, 
and in doing so I obtained a full view of General Aber- 
crombie’s face, and perceived that he was sleeping 
soundly. Even as we passed through the door in 
search of the seigneur his snore rose upon the peaceful 
air and permeated the apartment. 

Just how the earl broke the news of the verdict 
to the general I never knew, for Abercrombie always 
kept silent about the matter, as I am sure I, too, would 
have done had I been in his place. 

When I had escorted the seigneur and his daughter 
to Mr. Evertsen’s house, I returned to Mrs. Schuyler’s 
to get further orders from the earl. But when I en- 
tered the hall I saw a round dozen of our American 
colonels gathered there, all red with wrath, and some 
swearing with vigor and profusion. I knew one of 
them, Edgerton, of Connecticut, and I felt privileged 
to ask him what the trouble might be. 

“ You know the old claim of the British officers,” 
he said, that rank in the provincial armies amounts 


THE RESULT OF A TRIAL. 


1 13 

to nothing as compared with theirs. An order has 
just arrived from London directing that a provin- 
cial colonel shall never outrank a captain of Brit- 
ish regulars. We’ve come to the general’s council, but 
we’re denied admission, as at best we’re only equal 
to captains in rank.” 

I left, wondering at this latest proof of British tact. 
As an officer of the Royal Americans, my commission 
came from the King, and I was in his pay, but my sym- 
pathies were all for my countrymen. Mine truly was 
a sword of two and rival camps, and I was catching 
the dust of both. 


CHAPTER X. 


A MORNING SURPRISE. 

The seigneur and Louise were sent under escort 
the next day to Lake George, and we heard a little 
later from our scouts that they had reached the French 
lines in safety. One of these scouts was Zebedee 
Crane, who soon became the very good friend of both 
Culverhouse and myself. 

While the army was marching to Lake George, 
we joined Zebedee in one of his scouting expeditions, 
and on a bright morning in early summer saw a streak 
of silver shining through the trees. 

“What is that, Zebedee?” asked Culverhouse. 

“ Cold water. You ought to know the sight of it, 
even if you are an English officer.” 

“ Zebedee, if you were not so useful to us, I would 
resent that remark. I fear much that you will never 
be a good courtier! ” 

“What’s a courtier, leftenant?” 

“ Never mind. But, at least, it’s what you are 
not.” 

“ All right, leftenant. Come to the top of this hill 
here an’ you can get a better view of the water. See 
it a-shinin’ like silver through them trees. That’s the 
lake, and the dark line above it is the mountain on 
the other side. But the risin’ sun will turn both lake 
and mountain to yellow gold pretty soon.” 

It was full daylight when Culverhouse, Zebedee 
i 1 4 


A MORNING SURPRISE. II 5 

Crane, and I caught this first glimpse of the lake that 
we call George, but for which the Indians have a finer 
and more romantic name. The sun was peeping over 
the high mountains, and his first rays fell upon the 
lake, splashing drops of gold upon its silver bosom. 
The birds of the morning Were singingwith full throats. 
The mountains, save now and then a peak, which rose 
savage and naked as if scorning any adornment, were 
covered with the deep, rich, luxuriant green of an 
American forest in the fullness of summer. Set deep 
in the mountains, spread the sparkling lake. Wild 
flowers sprang up at our feet. In our faces blew the 
west wind, crisp and sweet with the odor of the 
woods. 

“ How pleasant is the breath of the green wood! ” 
said Culverhouse, standing up and inhaling the breeze. 
“ It makes me feel as if I would like to be a Robin 
Hood.” 

“Who’s Robin Hood?” asked Zebedee, who was 
much given to curiosity. 

“ Robin Hood,” replied Culverhouse, “ was an es- 
timable gentleman with tastes and habits to which 
yours, I suspect, are much akin, friend Zebedee.” 

“ Then he must have been a mighty fine man,” said 
Zebedee with calm egotism. 

Culverhouse laughed, and lay down in the deep, 
rich grass, luxuriating like a wild animal in the forest. 

“ It was worth coming across the sea to get a view 
like this and to feel like this,” he said. 

“ But s’pose it was winter,” said Zebedee, “ an’ it 
was a-hailin’ an’ a-snowin’ an’ it was sixty miles from 
the nearest settlement, an’ you had no powder in your 
powder horn an’ no bullets in your bullet pouch, 
how’d you like it then?” 

“ We will not contemplate such a combination of 
misfortunes, Zebedee,” said Culverhouse. “ I could lie 


II 6 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

in this grass and go to sleep feeling as if I were half- 
way to heaven.” 

“ An’ most likely you’d wake up all the way to 
heaven or t’other place,” said Zebedee, “ an’ without 
your scalp, too. Don’t you know these woods are full 
of Indians — Hurons and the like?” 

“ I suppose I do know it,” said Culverhouse lazily. 
“ It has been told to me often enough, but I don’t seem 
to realize it.” 

“ That’s what ails you English,” said Zebedee. “ If 
you thought more about Indians an’ less about hoss 
parades an’ beatin’ drums, more of you might keep 
your scalps where they belong, on top of your heads.” 

Zebedee, who was sitting on a fallen log, with his 
long rifle resting on his knees, spoke very earnestly, 
and Culverhouse felt the reproof, for he said: 

“ It must be confessed, Zebedee, that your remarks 
are true. We have not yet proved ourselves to be 
adepts at this sort of warfare. But we can learn.” 

“ It’s time to set about it,” said Zebedee tersely. 

No one could ever accuse Zebedee of shuffling or 
evasive speech. 

“ Perhaps an Indian concealed somewhere in the 
undergrowth is regarding us now,” I said. 

“ It’s not impossible,” replied Zebedee. 

“A cheerful thought!” said Culverhouse. 

“ You should have thought of that before we asked 
permission to come ahead of the army on this scouting 
expedition,” I said. “ We are within the enemy’s lines, 
are we not, Zebedee?” 

“ I don’t know much about lines,” replied the boy, 
“ but we are within his reach. Across yonder, toward 
Champlain, is Ticonderoga, that we’re cornin’ with 
such a power of men an’ bayonets an’ drums to take.” 

“ And we will take it too, Zebedee,” said Culver- 
house. “ Don’t be a prophet of evil.” 


A MORNING SURPRISE. 


II 7 


Zebedee did not reply, but, shading his eyes with 
his hand from the brilliant sunshine, gazed long in 
the direction in which we knew the kernel of the 
French force lay. Then he turned his eyes down 
toward the lake, and presently he said: 

“ There’s a canoe across yonder under the bank of 
the hill” 

“ Indians in it?” 

“ Indians or French, or more likely both,” he said. 

He pointed out the distant object keeping so care- 
fully within the shadow of the cliff that without Zebe- 
dee neither Culverhouse nor I would ever have seen 
it. It was moving up the lake, but remained so close 
to the wall of rock that we could not distinguish its 
occupants. 

“ That means somethin’, I guess,” said Zebedee. 
“ The French know our army is cornin’, an’ Montcalm 
don’t sleep twenty-four hours a day. When we go 
a-scoutin’ we ought to go a-scoutin’, an’ we’d better 
find out what that canoe means. I’ll take one of you 
an’ go further up the lake, while the other can stay 
here an’ watch’ from this p’int.” 

“ All right,” said Culverhouse, “ I’ll go with you. 
I don’t like waiting.” 

“ I don’t like waiting either,” I said. “ I’ll go with 
Zebedee.” 

“ Toss up a shillin’,” said Zebedee, “ an’ settle it 
atween you.” 

It was curious how this lank, half-wild boy as- 
serted rulership over us when we were in the wilder- 
ness. But his domain was the woods. Obediently 
we tossed up the shilling, and it fell to the lot of Cul- 
verhouse to go and to mine to stay. 

“ Now lay close,” said Zebedee to me with an air 
of authority, “ an’ don’t make any noise. Be sure an’ 
don’t let your rifle or your pistol off.” 


ir8 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

I promised faithfully to heed his directions, and 
then, after an equally sharp injunction to Culverhouse 
“ to walk lighter than a cat,” they disappeared in the 
green underbrush, leaving me alone on the hill. 

I watched the canoe for some time. Then it curved 
around a peninsula of rock and disappeared, and there 
was nothing left for me to watch — at least, nothing 
that moved — except the waves of the lake. But I felt 
no temptation to violate Zebedee’s command and move 
about or make a noise. 

I was lying in the long grass, which rose above 
me. I did not believe that any one more than ten feet 
away could discern my figure, even if he had eyes of 
preternatural acuteness. Before coming on the scout, 
Culverhouse and I, obedient to Zebedee’s advice, had 
discarded our officers’ coats and were arrayed in green 
hunting shirts, which blended with the colors of the 
forest. Instead of our swords, we carried rifles. Mine 
lay beside me within convenient reach of my hand. 

I was alone in the wilderness, but I felt no fear. 
Though I knew the hostile Hurons and their equally 
cunning allies the French were lurking through all 
these forests, I was like Culverhouse, I could not- real- 
ize the danger. Why should I, when there was nothing 
around me but the whispering silence and the blaze 
of green forest and golden sunshine? I laughed to 
myself at the idea of danger, and rolled my body into 
an easier position on the soft turf. I gazed sleepily 
out at the lake, where the waves, tossed up by the west 
wind, pursued each other briskly across its glistening 
surface until they crumbled away and sank back into 
the lake. A little brown bird dropped lightly upon a 
bough over my head and poured out a flood of song. 

It was all so gentle and so soothing that my mind 
turned naturally to reflection, to all the incidents of 
our advance since we had departed from New York, 


A MORNING SURPRISE. I IQ 

to those whom we had left there, and then to Louise 
de St. Maur. 

These thoughts were agreeable, and conduced to 
rest. I was tired and drowsy, too. We had been trav- 
eling through the forest nearly all the night before, 
for Zebedee said that when the Hurons were abroad it 
was safer to scout after the sun had gone down. Zebe- 
dee and Culverhouse were gone very long, and I half 
closed my eyes as I listened to the bird’s slumber 
song. 

A hare hopped through the grass near me. I was 
so quiet that he stood up for a moment and looked at 
me with fearless eyes. Then he hopped calmly away. 
A squirrel ran up a tree, saucily curving his bushy 
gray tail over his back as he dashed toward the high- 
est bough. Some green lizards crawled along the side 
of a fallen tree trunk. A sharp gray nose thrust itself 
up from the grass twenty or thirty feet away. I looked 
a second time at the gray nose, and then saw the lank 
body behind it. A gray wolf! They were common in 
these woods. I would have drawn my pistol and fired 
at the animal merely for sport’s sake, but it would be 
insanity to risk a shot within the shadow of the ene- 
my’s defenses. 

I drew my hand away from the pistol butt toward 
which I had moved it unconsciously, and regarded 
the wolf. He was a bold fellow. All but his head was 
now concealed in the grass, but he gazed at me with 
glowing red eyes. 

“ You would probably like to make a meal of me, 
my fine fellow,” I thought, “ but I am not for you.” 

I picked up a broken stick and threw it at the ani- 
mal. The missile fell short, but the sharp nose and 
the glowing red eyes disappeared in the denser under- 
growth, and I was left to my musings. 

I looked out again at the lake, but saw only the 


120 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


crumbling waves that still pursued each other over 
its surface. I wondered why Zeb and Culverhouse | 
stayed so long. I had not supposed they would go 
far in such a place as this. But as there was no answer ; 
to these unspoken inquiries, I sleepily allowed my eyes j 
to close. But I opened them again when I heard the 
fluff of something moving through the grass. 

There was the wolf again! He had moved around 
to the right of me, but he was a little nearer, and his 
gray nose looked sharper and his eyes redder than 
before. It was a persistent and evidently an inquisi- 
tive brute. 

Perhaps it wanted to make friends with me! I 
snapped my fingers in the manner of a man calling a 
dog. The brute cocked his head on one side and came 
a little closer, though his body remained concealed in 
the thick undergrowth. Wondering at his tameness, 

I snapped my fingers again, but the wolf would come 
no nearer. I repeated my invitation several times, but 
without effect, and then, tiring of the business* I again 
threw a piece of fallen wood at him. He disappeared 
a second time with marvelous quickness. Perhaps if 
I were such an attraction for animals, the bears and 
panthers which prowled through these woods would 
also be coming to see me. The thought amused me 
for a moment, and thep. I turned my attention again 
to the lake, where I was to watch for whatsoever I 
might see. 

Five minutes passed, and I heard behind me the 
noise of something brushing through the grass. I 
whirled over and found the wolfs gray nose and glow- 
ing eyes thrust almost in my face. Startled, I was 
about to spring back, but at that moment the shape 
of a wolf dropped away, and as the empty hide fell to 
the ground an Indian warrior in all the glory and 
hideousness of his war paint sprang to his feet. He 


A MORNING SURPRISE. 


1 2 I 


uttered no sound, not even the customary war whoop, 
but his glowing eyes expressed his triumph. 

My pistol was in my belt scarcely a foot from my 
hand, but I made no motion to reach it. The terrible 
surprise and the triumphant gaze of the Indian numbed 
me. The power of action slipped away from me like 
breath from the dying. I could do nothing but lie 
there and return the gaze of the triumphant warrior. 

Even in that moment, with my will enchained and 
expecting death, I was curiously observant. I noted 
every feature of the Indian’s face, and I shall never 
forget them, though I live to be as old as Adam and 
all the years be crowded with events. I observed the 
knife also, and saw that it was of French make. No 
doubt one of the rewards that Montcalm gave to his 
savage allies. 

All this passed in the falling of an eyelid. Then my 
eyes closed, and I passively awaited the stroke. 

I heard the report of a rifle sounding at this terrific 
moment like the roar of a cannon in my ears. A heavy 
form crushed down upon me. Warm blood spurted 
upon my face, and for the moment I became dizzy and 
half unconscious. 


CHAPTER XI. 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 

“ He is dead, Zebedee! Look, he is covered with 
blood! We were too late! ” 

“ Dead nothin’! Drag him up an’ give him a good 
shake! Hurry! we’ve got to be quick! ” 

Culverhouse’s strong hand was in the collar of my 
hunting shirt. He jerked me to a sitting posture, and 
shook me so violently that he shook all the dizziness 
out of me. 

“Grab your gun,” said Zebedee, “an’ come on! 
We was just in time then, an’ we’ve got to run for it 
yet.” 

The boy was rapidly reloading his rifle as he spoke, 
and I dimly comprehended what had happened. The 
dead Indian lying at my feet with a clean round hole 
in his temple was sufficient explanation. I seized my 
rifle, and, shuddering as I took a last look at the fallen 
warrior, darted away to the south, close behind Zebe- 
dee and Culverhouse. 

“ You have him to thank for not being in the In- 
dian’s place,” said Culverhouse between panting 
breaths, and nodding at Zebedee. “ It was one of the 
neatest shots I ever saw, and at long range, too.” 

Then he asked Zeb what he meant to do. The boy 
made no reply. Culverhouse repeated the question. 

“Shut up!” said Zeb. “This ain’t no time to 
bother me with questions.” 


122 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. I23 

“ You must not talk to me in that manner,” said 
Culverhouse with some choler. “ I am an officer, and 
I am older than you.” 

“ Shut up, I tell you! ” repeated Zeb emphatically. 
“ Just now I’m more’n a hundred years older than 
you are.” 

Culverhouse asked no more questions. 

When we had run about a half mile, we stopped 
for a moment on the crest of a little hill. Then we heard 
a cry, shrill and rising higher and higher, until its 
piercing note seemed to fill the wilderness. Then it 
sank down in a long, throbbing quaver. The cry ex- 
pressed triumph and anger, and was of such uncanny 
tone that I could not repress a shiver. 

“Good God!” exclaimed Culverhouse. “What, 
in the name of all that’s merciful, was that? ” 

“ That,” said Zebedee, “ is the war whoop of the 
Hurons, an’ that’s what we want to get away from 
as fast as we can,, for if we don’t our hair will be a 
public ornament afore nightfall. You came to thd 
war, leftenant, an’ you find it a-meetin’ you.” 

“ And this is war,” muttered Culverhouse, “ taking 
to our heels through the woods as if we were pursued 
by the prince of the fiends himself! ” 

“You’ve sized it up tol’ably well, leftenant,” said 
Zeb. “ It’s war, sure, an’ it’s a kind of war that’s been 
goin’ ag’in us from the start. It might be a good thing 
to recollect that. Now let’s be off ag’in.” 

We resumed our flight. After the single whoop, 
we heard nothing behind us. But the silence was 
more terrifying than any amount of noise would have 
been. The wind seemed to have died away. There 
was no movement among the green young leaves and 
the tender grass. The sky was a sheet of blue, and 
the sun, a great globe of gold, sailed up toward the 
zenith. It was just a brilliant summer morning, and 
9 


124 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


there was no hostile sound, nowhere a sign of an 
enemy. But we couid hear the thump of our own 
hearts, and the strained breath rasping the throat as it 
was drawn up from the tired lungs. 

My first feeling was akin to shame. It was the 
same that Culverhouse had expressed in his short re- 
mark. This was a pretty beginning for a young officer 
who had seen the gold epaulets of a general shining 
at the end of his career. To be chased headlong 
through the forest by prowling savages, and to yield 
the leadership perforce to a lank boy who did not 
know a dragoon from a drum major! 

We ran on for a long time. Zebedee kept slightly 
in front. I could not help noticing his long, easy 
stride, and the wary manner in which he swept the 
forest with his eyes. In the wilds and with danger 
near the boy had expanded, and there was a new look 
on his face. The dull, vacant expression such as those 
of feeble mind wear had disappeared. His counte- 
nance was instinct with intelligence. Every feature 
expressed alertness, keenness, and a fitness for the 
part he assumed, or rather which fell upon him like a 
garment that had been made for him. Here the boy 
had become our master. 

We paused again by a little brook that whispered 
a song as it threw coils of silver over the pebbles. 

“ 1 suggest that we go no farther,” said Culver- 
house as he gasped for breath. “ It is not becoming 
to an officer in his Majesty’s service to fly thus from 
any danger at all, far less from a danger that he 
can not see and that he does not even know to 
exist.” 

“ The danger’s real enough, I tell you,” said Zebe- 
dee. Them woods behind you are swarmin’ with the 
Hurons, an’ they mean to have us. They heard my 
shot, an they saw the dead warrior. Didn’t you 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 


125 


hear the yell? They’ll follow us now clean into the 
lines of our own army if they don’t get us afore 
then.” 

“ I suppose it’s as you say,” said Culverhouse. 
“ I’m willing to admit that I do not know much about 
this manner of making war.” 

“ It’s no choice of yours,” said Zeb. “ They make 
it for you. We’ll rest here a little, an’ then we’ll run 
ag’in.” 

Culverhouse looked at me and burst into a great 
laugh. 

“ What ails you? ” I asked in amazement. “ I can 
see nothing to laugh at.” 

“ Certainly not,” he replied, “ but you could if you 
had a mirror. I was merely thinking how lucky it 
was for you that no sweetheart of yours could see you 
now.” 

“ He ain’t the prettiest thing in the world, that’s 
certain,” said Zebedee, grinning. “ The blood of the 
Indian that fell across you, Leftenant Charteris, has 
run all over your face and dried there, till you’re as 
ringed an’ streaked an’ striped as if you was a born 
curiosity as ugly as tarnation.” 

“ Here’s water. I’ll wash it,” I said. 

“ No,” said Zeb authoritatively. “ Let it go. You’re 
not pretty, but you’re pretty enough for the busi- 
ness we’ve got on hand. Do you feel a little fresher 
now? ” 

We answered in the affirmative, and, Zeb leading, 
we began our flight again. We had run perhaps half 
a mile when the sound of a rifle shot reached us. I 
heard a singing past my ear, and involuntarily I threw 
my head to one side. I have heard that hiss often 
since. That was the first time it ever whispered in 
I my ear, but I knew it well even then. It marked the 
passage of a bullet. 


126 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“They’re close behind us,” said Zebedee, “but 
they fired sooner than I expected. That was a long- 
range shot. Boys, we must make a rush, or they’ll 
pick us off.” 

I cast a look behind me, and saw nothing but one 
little curl of smoke rising above the trees. But there 
was no longer any doubt about the pursuit. The 
whistle of the bullet was sufficient proof. And it 
seemed somehow to give us renewed strength. Zeb 
chuckled dryly at our increased speed. Presently we 
heard the war whoop again, but this time it was not 
from one voice, but from a dozen. Back among the 
trees we could see the forms of our pursuers. 

“ I can not endure this any longer, Zebedee,” 
gasped Culverhouse. “ Breath and strength are leav- 
ing me. You and Charteris go on, and I’ll make 
the best stand I can, and die as becomes a King’s 
officer.” 

Culverhouse’s words were brave, and I doubt not 
that he meant them, or rather tried to mean them, but 
his eyes expressed the hope that we would not desert 
him. No man is so brave that he is willing to be 
abandoned in the face of death. Nor did we take him 
at his word. 

“ Come on to the top of the hill there, an’ we’ll 
make a fight of it together. That’s the place for us,” 
said Zebedee. 

And so it was. I had enough of a military eye to 
see it at a glance. 

Upon a small hill a great number of large trees 
had been blown down by a tornado. They had fallen 
in such a manner that some of the trunks lay across 
each other, while the vegetation grew between. It 
was a kind of natural fortification, and the sight cheered 
us greatly. 

Culverhouse and I gathered up our remaining 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 


127 


strength and made a dash for the logs. Zebedee, in- 
stead of leading, now brought up the rear. When we 
were within a yard or two of the fallen trees he whirled 
about, threw his rifle to his shoulder, and pulled the 
trigger. As the stream of fire leaped from the long 
barrel it was accompanied by a piercing cry, and I 
knew that one of our pursuers would pursue no more. 
Then all together we leaped over the timber and flung 
ourselves pariting upon the ground, the rifle bullets of 
our pursuers pattering upon the logs. 

Before the reports of their rifles had ceased to ring 
in our ears the wary Zebedee was on his knees examin- 
ing our quarters. 

“ Lay close, boys,” he said, “ an’ none of their bul- 
lets can touch you. Peep through that crack there, 
an’ you can see how many Indians are after you.” 

Culverhouse and I looked as we had been told, 
and, much to our astonishment, saw nothing — that is, 
nothing living. There was the forest, green and placid, 
the brilliant beams of the sun penetrating the foliage 
of the trees and lingering lovingly on the grass. It 
seemed to be a primeval wilderness into which we, and 
we alone, had come. 

“ These red enemies of ours have most surprising 
methods,” ejaculated Culverhouse. “ Will you kindly 
tell me, friend Zebedee, what has become of them?” 

“ I guess the earth has just opened an’ swallered 
’em up,” said Zebedee, “ but if you was to poke your 
head above that log Til bet a half dozen bullets would 
come a-huntin’ it. You can bet, leftenant, that they’re 
a-waitin’ for your scalp.” 

“What queer people these red fellows are!” said 
Culverhouse again meditatively, “ and how they vio- 
late all the rules of war!” 

“ But they win battles mighty often, spite of the 
rules,” interrupted Zebedee. 


128 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ And what a sanguinary desire they evince to ob- 
tain our scalps! ” continued Culverhouse. 

He felt for his hair, which was very abundant, and 
then said ruefully to me : 

“ To think I should be threatened with such a fate, 
I, who have danced with a princess of the blood 
royal ! ” 

Zeb burst into a fit of derisive laughter. 

“ Do you think the Hurons will care for your 
princess of the blood royal, leftenant? ” he asked. 
“ But, lordy me, the Hurons know somethin’ ’bout 
teachin’ people to dance themselves. They’ll know 
how to make you hop, skip, an’ jump, leftenant.” 

“ Zebedee, my friend,” said Culverhouse sorrow- 
fully, “ it seems to me that you are trying to play upon 
my fears’ with these suggestions of the red men’s devil- 
try. It is very unkind of you, Zebedee.” 

“ All right, leftenant,” said Zebedee cheerfully. 
“ We’ll drop it. I guess we both had better be watchin’ 
the Hurons.” 

The windrow had been a great piece of luck for us. 
The surrounding space for some yards in every direc- 
tion was almost bare of trees. We could sweep the 
intervening territory with our rifles, and if our ene- 
mies attempted to take us with a rush it would be 
a most dangerous thing for them. 

“ They won’t try the rush, at least, not yet,” said 
Zeb. “ Much as they love scalps, they like to get ’em 
without riskin’ their own. They’d rather wait. I think 
we’re in for a long spell of it. Have you got anythin’ 
to propose, leftenant? ” 

“ Zebedee,” said Culverhouse with a fine air of 
resignation, “ I am an officer in the army; so is my 
friend here; you, as far as we know, are not an officer 
in anything. Nevertheless, we resign this affair into 
your hands. I disclaim any responsibility whatsoever 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 


I29 


for our situation and for what may happen. This is 
not correct in any particular. It is contrary to all 
the rules of warfare as I have learned them in the best 
and most polished schools of the world. I can ex- 
press only my disgust at such an un-English way of 
making war, and my deep regret at being concerned 
in it. The thought of the many apologies that I will 
have to make to my fellow-officers is most unpleasant, 
and vexes my spirit sorely.” 

“How very English you are!” I said. “You 
would then have the Hurons to fight according to 
your methods?” 

“ Of a certainty,” he said with emphasis. “ It is the 
only proper way. The Hurons can never hope to 
obtain my approval if they persist in their irregu- 
larities.” 

Here Culverhouse settled himself back against the 
logs as if he felt great relief at having got a burden 
off his mind, and intended to have nothing more to do 
with the affair. I cast a look at Zebedee to see how 
he took this enunciation of the military law, but that 
young worthy was staring between the logs at the 
forest, and apparently did not hear. As for myself, I 
concluded it was better not to reply. 

For a long time none of us spoke. We contented 
ourselves with watching. It was now noonday, for 
the sun had sailed up to the zenith and hung directly 
over our heads. Poised in the center of the heavens, 
he poured his shining arrows upon us, and we could 
see the heat quivering in the air. Nor was it per- 
mitted us to escape it. We tried to crouch under the 
fallen trees, but the sun’s rays sought us there, and 
drew the sweat every time they struck us. 

“ It is a most uncomfortable day to stand a siege,” 
said Culverhouse. 

“You mean it’s tarnal hot,” said Zeb. 


130 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ It comes to the same thing/’ replied Culverhouse, 
“ though your expression may be more direct and 
forcible.” 

“ What is going to be the end of all this? ” asked 
Culverhouse after another long pause. 

“ Maybe our scalps will hang on a lodge pole,” 
said Zeb deliberately, “an’ maybe they won’t. They 
won’t if the troops who ought to come get here in time. 
As nigh as I can calculate, this place is right on the 
line of march of our army. We ain’t very far ahead, 
an’ p’r’aps some of ’em will come up an’ help us out. 
Leastways that might be the case if the army had any 
more scoutin’ parties out now.” 

“ If they come, I hope they won’t be long about 
it,” said Culverhouse. “ By my faith, this position is 
getting to be a trifle uncomfortable! Zebedee, are you 
still of a mind that our enemies are in concealment 
there, watching us?” 

“ If you don’t think it,” said Zebedee, “ lift your hat 
a bit above the highest log. The trick ain’t new, an’ 
maybe they’ll let it pass. But still they’re so anxious 
for a shot that I guess some of ’em will plunk away 
at it.” 

“ The suggestion seems to be well made, and I 
think I will try it,” said Culverhouse. 

He began cautiously and slowly to lift his head. 
The top of his hat was just beginning to appear above 
the improvised fortification when Zeb seized him with 
both hands and dragged him down. 

“ Don’t be so pesky fast, leftenant,” he said. “ I 
said raise the hat, but you needn’t raise it with your 
head in it.” 

“ By Jove, you are right,” said Culverhouse in 
some confusion. “ I am glad you brought me to with 
a jerk. It would have been decidedly irregular, not to 
mention the matter of danger.” 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 1 3 1 

“ Which last ain’t the least by any manner of 
means,” said Zeb. Then, without more ado, he reached 
over, seized Culverhouse’ s befrogged hat, and lifted it 
off his head. 

“ I guess I’d better do this,” he said. “ I ’pear to 
have more of a sleight at these things than you do, 
leftenant. You might beat me out in the open, where 
things are reg’lar, but here in the woods I’m a lettle 
bit heftier.” 

He put the hat on the end of the ramrod of his 
gun, and began to hoist it, though with much slow- 
ness. 

“ It may sp’il the hat, leftenant,” said Zebedee, 
“ but it’s for the sake of a good cause.” 

“ And I paid three guineas for it out of my own 
purse,” said Culverhouse sorrowfully. “ If there is 
anything about my habit that has been a particular 
joy to me, it has been my hat.” 

The hat rose above the log, a bit of the feathers 
and gold braid appearing first. Then a little of the 
crown was hoisted into view, and the next moment the 
report of a firearm was heard from a point in the woods 
toward the northwest. 

Zeb lowered the hat and handed it to Culverhouse, 
saying: 

“ Leftenant, I thank you for the loan of your fine 
hat, an’ I give it back to you with extrys added 
to it.” 

There was a neat round hole in either side, where 
the Indian bullet had gone through. Culverhouse 
clapped the hat back on his head. 

“ Your assertions about the Indians are true, Zebe- 
dee,” he said, “ and the fact needs no further verifica- 
tion at the expense of my chapeau .” 

The incident made it very evident that our ene- 
mies would not relax their vigilance. In fear of an 


132 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

attack or some of the dangerous devices to which these 
crafty savages are addicted, we watched the woods on 
all sides. 

“ I think I begin to have a tincture of the battle 
fever,” said Culverhouse presently. “ Is there no way 
in which I can lodge a shot in the vitals of one of those 
crapulous savages? ” 

“It is irregular,” I said. “The military treatises 
do not provide for any such feats.” 

“ I am willing now to overlook the irregularity,” 
said Culverhouse, “ as we have happened upon cir- 
cumstances of such queerness.” 

“ The chance may be yours soon,” said Zeb. “ If 
you see an Indian, shoot at him, but look out for your 
own head. Don’t poke it out too far.” 

Culverhouse and I at least had little stomach for 
such inaction, and we were beset with impatience. I 
was just opening my mouth to make complaint when 
the words were cut off at my lips by a volley of rifle 
shots. We heard some of the bullets whizzing over 
our heads and others burying themselves with a nasty 
spat! spat! in the tree trunks. 

“ From what point are they firing? ” asked Culver- 
house, who was fingering his rifle and showing much 
desire .to return the fire. 

“ From all p’ints,” replied Zeb. “ They’ve made a 
ring ’round us, an’ are all firin’ at us in the center in 
hopes that we can’t dodge all their bullets.” 

“ Nor can we,” said I, as I felt a sting in my left 
arm. 

I pulled up the sleeve in much haste, but the bullet 
had only burned the flesh. It was like the sting of a 
bee to an ox, and aroused in me a great desire to re- 
turn the courtesy with all the interest that should be 
added by a gentleman. I peeped through the tree 
trunks in an effort to catch sight of our hitherto in- 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 


*33 


visible foe. At that moment a rifle flashed beside me, 
and Culverhouse uttered a cry of joy. 

“I verily believe I hit him, the dancing demon!” 
he exclaimed. “ I saw him skipping from one tree 
to another.” 

“ An’ I know I hit mine,” said Zebedee, who had 
fired a moment later, “ for I saw his body pitch over 
in the bushes, an’ it’s a-layin’ there yet.” 

I also got a shot, but I am confident I missed. 

And I have always held to it that Culverhouse 
missed too, for he was a poor marksman, which was 
not to be wondered at, his experience with the rifle 
being but small. 

Then the shots ceased, and silence again possessed 
the woods. 

“ They made a mess of it that time,” said Zebe- 
dee, “ an’ lost a good warrior. They risked too much, 
an’ showed themselves when they should a-laid hid 
and plunked away at us. Then in time they might have 
killed all of us without any of ’em gettin’ hurt.” 

“ Then, I trust, Zeb, they will not think of it yet! ” 
I exclaimed. 

There was a long pause, in which we did nothing 
but blister under the blazing sun and reflect upon the 
pressing inconvenience of our situation. I, at least, did 
the latter, and wondered over and over again if all 
the fine ambitions I had cherished were to end ob- 
scurely in that dark forest, like a candle put out by a 
puff of wind. 

The sun began to sink, and a cooling breeze set in 
from the west. It dispelled the heat, and our spirits 
rose as the temperature sank. 

“ It will not be very long until nightfall,” said 
Zeb. 

“ Will not that give the Indians a better chance to 
approach us?” asked Culverhouse. 


134 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ Certain,” replied Zeb, “ an’ it’ll also give us a 
better chance to get away. We mustn’t spend a whole 
night in this place. We must run the risk and try to 
steal away in the dark.” 

“ I can not see wherein it is more desirable to be 
struck by a bullet or a tomahawk in the dark than by 
day,” said Culverhouse. 

“ In the day you get scared before you’re hit,” 
said Zeb, “ an’ in the dark you don’t, ’cause you don’t 
know what’s cornin’. But maybe we won’t have to do 
neither. I hear horns.” 

He spoke the latter words with an appearance of 
eager, intense interest. We asked him what he meant 
by “ hearing horns,” but he condescended no reply. 
He had raised himself on his knees, crouched like a 
great cat, listening and waiting for the time to spring. 

“ What do you hear, Zeb? ” I asked. 

He shook one hand at me, making a gesture of 
great impatience, and perforce I was silent. 

He must have remained in his listening attitude for 
the space of full five minutes. Then he dropped back 
in a recumbent posture. 

“ The troops are advancin’, sure,” he said. “ I 
heard their horns. The sound come on the wind. 
’Twasn’t much, not more’n a dry leaf makes when it 
hits the ground, but I know it. It’s just like ’em to 
go lickety split through the woods, tootin’ their horns 
an’ tellin’ every Indian this side of the St. Lawrence 
where they are.” 

“ You mean trumpets, I guess,” I suggested. 

“ It’s all the same,” replied the boy with an ex- 
pression of disgust. “ Horns, I call ’em. They make 
as much noise by either name.” 

“ But it is a noise of which we can not complain 
this time,” said Culverhouse, “ for it would savor of 
ill temper and ingratitude.” 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 


135 


Hope now took possession of us. We waited and 
listened. Once or twice I thought I could hear the 
faint tones of the trumpet, but I was not sure. My 
ears were not so well attuned to the forest as Zebe- 
dee’s. __ 

“ I’m hopin’ they’ll come soon,” said Zebedee, 
looking up anxiously at the sky, “ or the night’ll beat 
’em here, an’ that’ll be bad for a rescue.” 

“ Perhaps you were mistaken. Perhaps it was 
merely a phantasy,” I said. 

“ I don’t know a phantasy. I never seen or heard 
one,” said Zeb, “ but I do know a horn, an’ I heard 
it, certain. They may have gone on farther away from 
us, but I don’t believe it, for we’re mighty nigh to the 
line of march. There! There it goes ag’in! Don’t 
you hear it? ” 

Tra-la-loo, tra-la-la, tra-la-loo, ta-too, ta-too, ta- 
too! 

Now we heard it distinctly rolling down the wind. 
Never was a sound more welcome than that which 
came to us from the trumpet’s brazen throat. It was 
the voice of help, of life. 

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” exclaimed 
Culverhouse joyfully. “ It’s the brave lads beating 
their way through these treacherous forests! Friend 
Zebedee, you must confess that the redcoats are of 
some utility, after all.” 

“ Let’s wait an’ see,” said Zeb cautiously. 

Straining my eyes in the direction from which the 
sound of the trumpet came, I saw a smear of red on 
a distant hilltop. 

“ Look, Zeb, is not that the troops?” I exclaimed. 
“ Is not that the troops? ” 

“ Yes,” said Zeb, “ I see their uniforms shinin’, 
an’ the settin’ sun is glancin’ off their brass buttons. 
That’s the troops or a part of ’em, an’ no mistake. 


136 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

An’, as sure as you live, they’re goin’ into camp in that 
open spot on the hilltop.” 

“ Signal to them ! Signal to them at once,” ex- 
claimed Culverhouse, “ and let’s get out of this plague 
of a hole.” 

In his eagerness he raised his head above the tree 
trunk. A rifle cracked in the woods, and a bullet 
sheared the feather from his fine hat. He sank back, 
expressing his annoyance in vehement terms. 

“ I told you to wait,” said Zeb reprovingly. “ Don’t 
forget that the savages are mighty irreg’lar, or you’ll 
get all your hat shot away afore we get through.” 

More soldiers had come into the open on the far 
hilltop, until fully a hundred were gathered there. Un- 
doubtedly they were going into camp for the night, 
as we could see them setting about their preparations. 

“ Suppose we fire our rifles altogether and attract 
their attention,” said Culverhouse. 

“ An’ then have the savages altogether rushin’ 
upon us,” said Zeb, “ an’ no loads in our guns for 
em. 

The wind was blowing strong from the soldiers 
toward us. We could even hear the clang of the camp 
kettles. The sun, round, red, and huge, had gone 
so far down the western arch of the sky that it formed 
a background for them. In the full blaze of its bril- 
liant light we could distinguish the features of the 
men. 

“ They are from one of the English regiments,” 
said Culverhouse. 

“ An’ for that reason not much good for woods 
fightin’,” said Zeb. 

“ I think I’ll shoot off my gun, an’ maybe they’ll 
hear it,” he added presently, “ but I dunno, for the 
wind is blowin sound back this way like a big cur- 
rent takin’ a stick down stream.” 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 


137 


He raised his rifle and discharged it into the air. 
The soldiers gave no evidence that they had heard 
the report. They proceeded unconcernedly with their 
preparations, and presently we saw a fire blazing. A 
slender column of smoke rose from it and floated above 
the tree tops. 

“By my soul, they are cooking!” said*Culverhouse; 
“ and that reminds me that hunger is gnawing at me. 
We have not eaten since last night. I believe I can 
smell their food.” 

“ They didn’t hear my gun, that’s certain,” said 
Zeb. “ Now if they’d a grain of sense they’d a had 
scouts lookin’ through all these woods afore they 
camped.” 

The situation was most provoking. We could see 
our friends, and yet they neither saw nor heard us. 
Despite their presence, we were still as closely be- 
sieged by the savages as if the soldiers were a hun- 
dred miles away. I saw now that the causticity of 
Zeb’s comments upon the ways of the regular soldiers 
was equaled only by their truth. It struck me that 
the Great Duke, Marlborough, himself, whose memory 
was still of such exceeding weight among us, would 
have been compelled to learn the art of war anew had 
he come campaigning in the American woods, or else 
Fate would have played him sore tricks. 

“ Leftenant,” said Zeb, “ I guess your hat will have 
to stand the dangers of war ag’in.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Culverhouse. 

“ Why, since they can’t hear us,” replied Zeb, 
“ maybe they can see us. We can’t stick our heads 
up, for bullets are unpleasant things to meet. Now 
your hat, with all its fine feathers, is just the thing. I’ll 
h’ist it on my ramrod ag’in, an’ if they can’t see it with 
all its gold braid they can’t see nothin’.” 

The hat was promptly drafted into service again. 


138 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

I wondered if the Indians would try another shot at 
it. I had no doubt they were still watching us, and I 
was of an equal positiveness that they had seen the 
soldiers. There was always a chance that some one 
of the redcoats, more alert than the others, might hear 
a shot. Would the Indians risk it? 

My doubts were quickly stilled, for as soon as Zeb 
raised the gorgeous chapeau a shot was fired at it. The 
bullet made another neat round hole through it, and 
Culverhouse uttered a lamentation. But the Indians 
fired no more. 

Zeb moved the hat about, the gold braid catching 
the rays of the declining sun. Some of the soldiers 
were now sitting around the camp fire eating their 
evening meal. The sight made me think more of our 
hunger than of our danger. I felt as if I could have 
sent a shot at those irritating soldiers had they been 
within range. 

“Take the ramrod,” said Zeb to me, “ an’ keep on 
swingin’ the hat about as if your life depended on it.” 

I obeyed, and the next moment I sprang a foot in 
the air and nearly dropped rod and hat. Zeb had sud- 
denly put his hands, trumpet fashion, to his mouth and 
uttered a most terrific shriek. It was at first a pro- 
longed shout that set my ears a-tingling, and then it 
turned into a fierce, shrill, and piercing whistle that 
cut the air like a bullet. 

“ How’s that for a whoop? ” asked Zeb, grinning. 
“ Is there a sneakin’ Indian in all the American woods 
that can beat it? Maybe if the soldiers can’t hear a 
gun shot they can hear my yell. Look out, it’s cornin’ 
ag’in! ” 

Again he made the forest ring and echo with his 
tremendous whoop. Watching the soldiers, I saw an 
unusual movement among them. Some of the men 
who had been sitting down rose to their feet, and all 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 139 

appeared to be listening. I moved the hat with great 
vigor. 

“ Shout again, Zeb ! ” I cried excitedly. “ They 
hear you ! ” 

He uttered another yell, which echoed like the 
shriek of a panther on a still night. We were assured 
now that they heard us, and also saw the hat. 

Tra-la-la, tra-la-loo, tra-la-la, ta-too, ta-too! 

“ Smoke me if they ain’t cornin’ to help us with 
their horn!” exclaimed Zeb. 

It was so. The trumpeter had his instrument to 
his lips, and the mellow and inspiring notes sounded 
through the forest. The men were falling into line as 
if they were going to march down Broadway, and we 
could see an officer gesticulating. 

“ What all-fired notions of Indian fightin’ they 
have,” said Zeb, “ a-paradin’ through the woods as if 
a lot of gals was lookin’ on at ’em an’ admirin’ ’em! 
Get your guns ready, boys! We’ll save as many as 
we can.” 

“Save as many as we can?” I exclaimed in sur- 
prise. “ Why, they are coming to rescue us.” 

“ I know it,” said Zeb, “ but I guess we’ll have to 
rescue them.” 

The truth of his words was apparent a few mo- 
ments later to both Culverhouse and me, slight as had 
been our experience of forest warfare. Instead of 
sending out scouts to ascertain what manner of affair 
might be going on, at least half of the troop were 
marching down upon us in regular line of battle, in 
so far as the trees and bushes would permit them to 
preserve the military formation. An ambush seemed 
inevitable. 

“ How can we warn them?” I whispered to Zeb. 

“ I don’t know yet,” he replied. 

It was a fine sight to see them coming through 

io 


140 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

the forest in such brave and jaunty style, heads up, 
feet keeping time, and bright uniforms gleaming. At 
their head marched an officer, drawn sword in hand. 

“ That’s Selwyn, of the Buffs,” said Culverhouse. 
“ A chap of spirit. I knew him at home.” 

I continued to wave the gaudy hat, and the sol- 
diers came on steadily. They were halfway to us when, 
without a word of warning to either of us, Zeb leaped 
upon the highest tree trunk and shouted: 

“Get behind the trees! Get behind the trees! 
You’re walkin’ into an ambush! Look out! Look 
out!” 

Then he dropped back into the little fort as if he 
had been shot, as he probably would have been had 
it not been for the last movement, for the rifles were 
now heard, and two or three bullets sang and whistled 
over our heads. But the main volley was directed atj 
the soldiers. Fortunately the warning of Zebedee had 
startled the men so much that they obeyed it instinc- 
tively. They had broken their line, and were springing 
for the shelter of the tree trunks when the Indians fired 
upon them. 

The savages appeared to have collected in a body, 
for the bushes about fifty yards from the soldiers were 
spouting fire. The young lieutenant whom Culver- 
house had called Selwyn fell, but one of the men 
turned, lifted the stricken officer in his arms, and 
sprang behind a tree with him. It was a most gallant 
act, and Zeb uttered a grunt of approval. 

The soldiers began to fire in return, but it was evi- 
dent that they were discharging their pieces at ran- 
dom, while the fire of the Indians was telling. I saw 
one redcoat go down, and then another, and just at 
that moment Zeb, shouting to us to follow, leaped 
over our breastwork and sprang into the forest, run- 
ning straight for the Indians. Suddenly he dropped 


A FLIGHT AND A FIGHT. 


141 

flat on his face, and we imitated him. Ahead of us we 
saw a number of brown figures crouching behind trees 
and firing at the soldiers. It was not necessary to give 
any further orders to Culverhouse and me. Together 
with Zeb we raised our pieces and fired at the naked 
bodies. Just then the remainder of the soldiers who 
were coming up from the camp on the run fired into 
the thicket where the Indians lay, making a deal of 
noise, but not doing much destruction, I dare say. 

But the assault from three points was too much 
for the stomachs of the savages. Uttering howls, they 
fled like balked and ravening wolves into the depths 
of the forest. 


CHAPTER XII. 

IN THE GENERAL’S TENT. 

When the Indians darted yelling into the forest, 
Culverhouse stood staring after them, his mouth open, 
and, his gun swinging in one hand. 

“ Have you been wounded, Culverhouse? ” I asked, 
seizing him by the arm. The expression on his face 
alarmed me. 

“ No,” he replied, “ I was merely thinking what 
extraordinarily unmusical voices those savages have! ” 

“ Well, I hope it is the last time either you or I 
will hear them,” I said. 

“You speak like a wise man,” he replied. 

Then we turned our attention to the soldiers. They 
were gathering in a confused huddle, and there was a 
jangle of voices, as if all the Dutch wives in New 
York were talking at once. The wounded officer was 
leaning against a tree, looking very faint. His fine 
red coat was grievously spattered with blood. 

“ Selwyn,” said Culverhouse, going up to him, “ I 
am very glad to see you, but loath to know that you 
are wounded, and that, too, in such an irregular sort 
of warfare.” 

“Ah! it is you, Culverhouse,” said the wounded 
officer, showing more animation. “ You are right in 
condemning this mode of fighting. It is irregular, 
very irregular. Were it not for that, this ball through 
my shoulder would not pain me so sorely. And to 


IN THE GENERAL’S TENT. 


143 


think I did not so much as see our enemies! It passes 
all human patience, and gives one a certain distaste 
for the noble art of war.” 

These brief condolences were very elevating to 
the spirits of both, and Selwyn appeared to forget his 
wound, which proved to be not serious. 

Three of the soldiers had paid the forfeit of their 
lives for their carelessness, and a half dozen others 
had wounds, though slight in most cases. Had it not 
been for Zeb’s warning, I am sure the loss would have 
been much heavier. One slain savage was found in 
the bushes. More than a dozen soldiers claimed to 
have shot him, but I believe if the bullet that took his 
life had been measured it would have been found a 
nice fit for the barrel of Zebedee Crane’s rifle. 

We joined the main army the next morning, and 
right glad were' Culverhouse and I to see again the 
splendid force of England and her great colonies. 
What were a few skulking savages now? An hour 
after our arrival a sergeant bade us come to the tent 
of General Abercrombie, the commander in chief. 

The general’s marquee had been raised upon a little 
hill. It was large, and decorated with much gayety of 
color. Over it the flag of Britain flaunted proudly in 
the wind. Many officers, mostly young and in bril- 
liant uniforms, were lounging about. We saw Major 
McLean near, and he gave us a kindly nod. Then 
we followed the sergeant into the tent. 

General Abercrombie was reposing in a half-sitting 
and comfortable posture in a kind of hammock that 
was swung from the tent poles. Several officers of 
high rank were present. The tent was furnished with 
a surprising degree of luxury. A thick, soft carpet 
had even been spread over the turf. 

General Abercrombie raised himself a little when 
we entered. 


144 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ Are these the gentlemen of whom you spoke, 
Panmure, the gentlemen who had the little encounter 
with the red allies of the French? ” he asked languidly 
of one of the officers. He seemed to have forgotten 
me completely. 

“ These are the gentlemen,” replied the officer, 
“ and as they have been in advance of us, and, more- 
over, have encountered the enemy, I thought perhaps 
they might have useful information.” 

Culverhouse and I had removed our hats. Zebe- 
dee allowed his fur cap to remain upon his head. 
General Abercrombie at once noticed this slight upon 
his position and dignity. 

“ Are you aware, sir, that you are in the presence 
of the general in chief? Why do you not take off 
your cap? ” he asked in a heightened voice of Zebedee. 

“ I can’t,” replied Zebedee. 

“ Can’t! What do you mean?” asked the general. 

“ It’s growed there,” replied Zebedee. 

“ Pah ! ” exclaimed the general in a tone of mighty 
disgust. “ I thought you told me, Panmure, that the 
boy was possessed of great keenness and intelligence. 
He seems to be a complete fool, the most thorough 
fool I ever met, and the Lord knows I have seen some 
comprehensive fools in my time.” 

I looked at Zeb. The boy’s appearance, in truth, 
had changed, or rather he had resumed the expression 
which marked him the first time I saw him, the vacant, 
staring eyes and the lank, fallen features. 

“Pah! the boy is a lack- wit!” repeated the gen- 
eral. 

If you will pardon me for speaking, general,” I 
said, the lad is a master of woodcraft, and both Lieu- 
tenant Culverhouse and I owe our lives to his skill and 
courage.” 

“ It: is so,” said Culverhouse with emphasis. 


IN THE GENERAL’S TENT. 


145 


“ Even granting that to be true, I am yet to ascer- 
tain if he has been or will be of any service to us,” re- 
plied the general. 

I felt a flush of anger at the gratuitous insult, but 
I merely bowed, for it was the commander in chief 
who had spoken. Nor did the smothered laugh of 
some of the officers make us feel more comfortable. 

“ You were somewhat in advance of the army, ex- 
ploring for the enemy?” asked the general. 

I bowed again. 

“ I would infer from what I have heard that you 
succeeded in finding the enemy,” said the general 
ironically. 

I bowed a third time. 

“What, then, can you report concerning them?” 
he asked. 

“We were surprised by the savages,” I replied in 
a respectful tone, “ and, as I have said, escaped only 
through the skill and courage of this boy. The woods 
are full of these savages, the allies of the French, who 
know how to make themselves invisible to us, and at 
the same time observe all our movements.” 

“ Do you think,” asked the general in a very chol- 
eric tone, “ that I care how many of these skulking 
Indians may be watching our march? Do you think 
that I care a farthing, sir, even if they had been watch- 
ing me all the way from New York, and should con- 
tinue to watch me until I camp in the citadel at Que- 
bec?” 

I was taken aback by this outburst, and all I could 
do was to resort to the ready and noncommittal 
bow. 

“ They seem to take us for children over here, eh, 
Panmure?” said the general, turning to the officers. 

The officers laughed. 

I was the only American present except Zebedee. 


146 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

Nevertheless, I was pleased with myself. I had kept 
my temper, and General Abercrombie had lost his. 

Having had his fling at us, he seemed somewhat 
mollified, and asked a number of questions about our 
skirmish. 

“ You seem to have fared rather badly,” he 
said. 

“ But these savages fight in a most irregular man- 
ner,” said Culverhouse. “ I do not believe there is a 
single rule in the military treatises that they do not 
violate.” 

“ That is what ails all the campaigns in this pestifer- 
ous country,” said the general in a pettish tone. 
“Nothing is done according to the rules that have been 
perfected by ages of thought and practice. I have 
served in France and the Low Countries. Honor and 
glory are to be won there. There you fight with gen- 
tlemen and against gentlemen. But here your allies 
are lank lack-wits, like this boy, and your enemies are 
savages and renegade Frenchmen, whom you can not 
find. You march through a wilderness. There are no 
roads, no towns, nothing to lend a pleasant savor to 
the troubles and dangers of a soldier’s life. By my 
faith, gentlemen, it is a most ungrateful task, and the 
only pleasant thing about it is the knowledge that we 
will soon be in Quebec and put an end to it all.” 

The officers applauded these words, which were 
spoken in a high tone. This appeared to soothe Gen- 
eral Abercrombie, whose features relapsed into an ap- 
pearance of content. 

“ You had not finished your most interesting* 
story, Montague, when these gentlemen entered,” he 
said, turning to one of the younger officers. “ You 
stopped at the critical moment when the duke found 
the earl’s letter to the duchess.” 

There was nothing more for us to do but to make 


IN THE GENERAL’S TENT. 


147 


our bows, which received but slight acknowledgment, 
and leave the marquee. I looked about for Lord 
Howe, but I was told later that he was with Rogers’s 
Rangers exploring the country. As we passed out 
I heard Montague take up the thread of his interesting 
narrative. 

“ He said he had seen some big fools in his time,” 
whispered Zebedee Crane in my ear. “ Lordy, an’ so 
have I, an’ I ain’t near as old as he is neither.” 

I rejoined my regiment, and an hour later, as I was 
passing about the camp, some one tapped me on the 
shoulder. I turned about and beheld the face of the 
omnipresent Martin Groot grinning at me in that irri- 
tating fashion of his, which seemed to say, “ Misfor- 
tunes are happening, and I am enjoying myself 
greatly.” 

“ Ah, it is you, Mynheer Groot,” I said, affecting a 
certain warmth of welcome. “ I thought you were a 
man of most peaceful disposition given up to gainful 
commerce, and here I behold you on the edge of 
war.” 

“ So I am a man of peace,” replied Martin, “ and 
I admit that I am keen to appreciate the value of 
pounds and shillings. Even here I am pursuing both 
peace and pounds.” 

“ How so? ” I asked. 

“ Well, as for the first,” he replied, “ you must re- 
member that we have not changed commanders in 
chief yet.” 

“ We have Abercrombie in place of Loudoun,” I 
replied. 

“ The name is changed, that is all,” he replied. 
“ And as for the second proposition — namely, pounds 
— an army like this requires many supplies, and that 
means contracts. Contracts mean pounds, and here 
am I, Martin Groot, merchant, to earn the pounds, a 


148 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

task in which I am meeting with the most satisfactory 
success.” 

“ You appear to take a very sordid view of the 
war,” I said. 

“ I am likely to reap much more substantial ad- 
vantages from it than you are,” he said contentedly, 
“ and if by any accident there should be fighting, I 
shall be very far in the rear when it is done. I make 
no disguise of my calling, and I suspect that my busi- 
ness will come to a much more fortunate end than 
General Abercrombie’s will.” 

“ You are the same ill-omened prophet that you 
were in New York,” I said. 

“ I use my eyes; I see and I think,” he replied 
curtly. “ Do likewise. You will find much profit 
in it.” 

Then he left me. 

After remaining a month in camp at the head of 
the lake, the army made another great heave and em- 
barked for the passage preparatory to the assault on 
Ticonderoga. It was heavy work to get us into the 
boats, of which there were more than a thousand, with- 
out counting those that carried the artillery, but start 
we did at last. 





CHAPTER XIII. 


THE LONE WARRIOR. 

We were afloat on the lake in the glorious sun- 
light of a brilliant morning. I could feel my face flush 
and the blood leap in my veins as I looked upon the 
largest and finest army that had yet been gathered in 
America, advancing with regular and graceful motion 
down the shining waters of this queen of the moun- 
tains. Almost from shore to shore, so it seemed to 
me, the boats were spread out like a vast flock of 
gigantic waterfowl. They contained near sixteen 
thousand men, half of them British and the other half 
Americans, the best and most warlike of two conti- 
nents assembled to conquer Canada, and to quench 
forever the flame which had raged so long in the north 
and had scorched us so often. 

Looking upon this army, my doubts disappeared. 
We were invincible. I could see now why General 
Abercrombie had laughed at the mention of a few 
skulking Indians and Frenchmen. There was noth- 
ing in Canada that could withstand such a force as 
ours. Montcalm might be brave and skillful, but 
bravery and skill would be of small avail against equal 
bravery and skill, allied with overwhelming numbers. 

The army was in great spirits, and surely it had a 
plenitude of reasons for it. The bands placed here 
and there through the fleet played the latest martial 
music with such inspiring vigor that we could scarce 
149 


150 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

wait for the sight of the enemy. This great burst of 
music floated far over a lake little accustomed to such 
sounds, and I fancy it must have disturbed the deer 
lurking in the thickets on the shore. 

The soldiers were as trim as if they had been pre- 
pared for dress parade. Here the red uniforms of the 
British seemed to form a solid mass on the lake. Fur- 
ther on, the green coats of the New England Rangers 
matched the tints of the forest that overhung the edge 
of the mighty cliffs. Near the center of the fleet a 
boat larger than the others, and covered with a white 
awning to protect its occupants from a too inquisitive 
sun, marked the position of General Abercrombie and 
his staff. 

Around us the scenery was grand and romantic. 
The red gold of the sun was reflected in the clear 
waters of the lake. The mountain tops were green 
with forest, and the great crags were red and bronze 
and gray as the light fell upon them. Birch and pine 
and fir clustered on the islets, and the wild flowers 
grew in the green grass at the foot of the tree 
trunks. 

Culverhouse was with his regiment near the right 
end of the line, but the Highlanders were ranged along- 
side the Royal Americans, and Major McLean sat in 
the boat next to the one in which I had a place. I 
noted with pride that this old soldier, who had seen 
so much of the world and of the military life, was 
moved by the scene. There was a sparkle in his eye 
when he nodded to me and said : 

“ A most noble sight, young man, and a lake and 
mountains that my own Scotland herself can not sur- 
pass.” 

It was a large admission to come from him, and I 
felt that if he were willing to say so much the truth 
must be even greater. 


THE LONE WARRIOR. 


151 

“ But it lacks the history and the grand associa- 
tions which our Highland lakes and mountains pos- 
sess,” he said. “ You are in the gristle here.” 

“ But those things will come,” I said. “ And, in 
truth, we are not altogether without history as it is. 
Farther down was where we beat Dieskau last year. 
And are we not about to make history now? ” 

“Most truly! most truly!” he said, “and right 
glorious let it be! Where away is this fortress of 
Ticonderoga which has been such a sore trouble to 
you gentlemen of the colonies?” 

“ Across yonder, toward Champlain,” I replied. 

We continued our progress in excellent order down 
the lake which the French call the Lac du St. Sacre- 
ment, but which the English have defiled with the 
name of George — a name which the Americans use, 
too, because the French words are too hard for tongues 
that have not learned the foreign twists. Soon we 
could see the dim outlines of the ridges beyond which 
Ticonderoga lay. I felt a new thrill when I looked 
upon the slopes and heights where we were going to 
find our enemy. We would hear from him very soon, 
I felt sure. 

I had wondered much as we came down the lake 
why we had not heard from him already, but thus far 
we had encountered no sign of Montcalm and his men, 
either red or white. The same wonder had stirred 
the breast of Major McLean. 

“Do you think the Frenchman will stay to. meet 
us?” s he asked. 

“ Politeness is said to be a trait of the marquis, as 
well as skill and courage,” I replied. 

“ That is good,” he replied. “ I had a fear that 
the French would leave before we could get a glimpse 
of them. It is no glory for us to walk into an unde- 
fended fortress. But I dare say the French view with 


152 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

much alarm such an army as this. Even now, my 
young friend, despite your words, I fear that they have 
gone. I can see no sign of a human being save those 
who compose this army.” 

There was, indeed, a wondrous silence on the part 
of the enemy. I began verily to believe that Montcalm, 
as the major suggested, had abandoned Ticonderoga 
and was now in full flight to Canada with his French 
and Indians. But that was not the character of Mont- 
calm, the leader whose martial exploits even his ene- 
mies were compelled to admire. 

Some changes in the line presently brought our 
boat near to that of the commander in chief. The large 
boat was crowded with officers in their most brilliant 
uniforms, all showing the greatest animation. Gen- 
eral Abercrombie shared in the common eagerness. 
He had his large military glasses to his eyes, and was 
studying the distant slopes. 

“ I can make nothing of it, Panmure,” he said. 
“ Even through the glasses I am no more able to dis- 
cover life up there than I am with the naked eye.” 

“ Montcalm is a fox, they say, general,” said Pan- 
mure. 

“ Then it seems likely we shall have a fox chase all 
the way from here to Quebec,” replied the commander 
in chief. 

There was a shout of approving laughter at the 
jest, and a moment later all the bands began to play 
O Richard! O mon Roi! 

“ ^ is a French air,” said Major McLean, “ but it 
will serve well enough for us. May we fight to-day 
for the glory of the King, Lieutenant Charteris. And 
may we always do our duty to the King, lieutenant.” 
„ “ Ma y we alwa ys do our duty to the King,” I said, 
and may the King always do his duty to us.” 

It is a bold spirit, and sometimes a reckless one 


THE LONE WARRIOR. 1 53 

you gentlemen of the colonies show,” he said reprov- 
ingly. 

“ It is the spirit that we have inherited from our 
English and Scotch forefathers,” I replied. 

“ Perhaps I should not criticise it,” he said, and re- 
ferred no more to the subject. 

The general was still examining the ridges through 
his military glasses when a canoe containing a single 
occupant came from behind a screen of woods ahead 
of us. 

“A Huron!” I exclaimed. 

“'One of our savage enemies,” said the major. 

The Indian paddled his canoe farther out into the 
lake, but kept directly in front of us. Then he turned 
and looked back at the army. The speed of the entire 
fleet slackened in unison, the same feeling seizing all, 
I suppose. 

“ Some wandering fisherman or hunter,” said the 
major. 

“ No,” I replied, “ a warrior.” 

The sun fell full upon the warrior, and revealed 
every feature of his face and all the outlines of his 
shining and almost naked body. He was scarcely be- 
yond rifle shot, but he regarded us with as much calm 
and unconcern as if we were a flock of waterfowl. His 
hair was gathered in the scalp lock, and his face and 
body glistened with the war paint. He was young and 
of imposing figure. 

“ A fierce-looking creature,” said the major. “ His 
gaze makes me think of some of our own wild High- 
landers.” 

“ And probably he would be a match for any of 
them,” I said. 

“Perhaps! perhaps!” replied the major in an in- 
credulous tone. 

The sudden appearance of the savage had created 


154 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

much stir among the brilliant crowd in the boat of 
the commander in chief. 

“ An enemy at last, general! ” cried Panmure. “ Or 
perhaps it is a messenger come to treat for peace.” 

“ If the latter be true,” said General Abercrombie, 
“ I shall refuse to receive him in such a scanty uni- 
form. It is a lack of respect to me, and I shall hold 
M. Montcalm responsible for it.” 

All the officers, remembering their duty, laughed 
at the general’s humor. 

“ He is no messenger of surrender,” I said to Major 
McLean. 

“ Nor do I think so either,” he replied, “ though 
I am unaccustomed to the ways of these creatures of 
the wilderness. But certainly there is more of defi- 
ance than friendliness in that savage’s attitude.” 

With easy and scarce perceptible stroke the sav- 
age propelled his canoe, the distance between him 
and the army neither widening nor narrowing. Nor 
did he once remove his gaze from us. It was an odd 
sight. As we moved down the lake it looked as if all 
that great army of near twenty thousand men was pur- 
suing a lone Indian. 

“ By my faith, the savage seems to defy all the 
power of Great Britain!” said the major. 

So it seemed. 

Thus we advanced some distance, and the heavy 
murmur that rose up from the army told that the war- 
rior had aroused the curiosity of all the soldiers. Pres- 
ently he gave several prolonged and vigorous sweeps 
with his paddle. The boat curved about and shot 
toward a little cove. 

“ He is going to leave us,” said the major. “ This 
army was a rare sight for him. I dare say he will 
never again look upon such a martial spectacle.” 

The canoe struck lightly against the bank, and the 


THE LONE WARRIOR. 


55 


Indian stepped out. He faced us, rifle in hand, as erect 
and strong as a young oak. For a moment he re- 
garded us seemingly with more intensity than ever. 
Then he raised his rifle, discharged it into the air, and, 
uttering a long and thrilling whoop, vanished in the 
forest. 

Then I knew that Montcalm was waiting for us. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A SUDDEN ENCOUNTER. 

The entire army landed the next day, and our 
general prepared for a speedy assault on the fortress. 
At least he issued orders to that purpose, for General 
Abercrombie himself did not appear at the front. It 
was said that he was remaining further back in order 
that he might have a better opportunity to observe the 
movements of all the divisions of the army. I had 
always thought that a good general would be in the 
van. But I was inexperienced, and began to see how 
much I had to learn before I could truthfully say I 
knew the military art. 

Our colonel selected me to lead a small party of 
skirmishers. My bit of experience in the woods with 
Culverhouse and Zeb Crane had won me the honor, 
and I was much gratified when I set forward with 
my half dozen men. We entered the forest, and began 
to make our way with as little noise as we could toward 
Ticonderoga. 

“Say, leftenant, you don’t want to go a-scoutin’ 
without me, do you? ” 

I looked around and saw that Will-o’-the-wisp, Zeb 
Crane, and glad enough I was to have him with us 
on the dangerous business we were about to under- 
take. 

“ I ve pretty good eyes, leftenant, an’ know 
a bit about the woods,” he said, “ an’ don’t you forget 
156 


A SUDDEN ENCOUNTER. 


57 


that the Frenchers are watchin’ up there. The army’s 
been landed now a good while, an’ Montcalm knows 
everythin’ that’s been done.” 

“But what good,” said I, “can it do him? We 
have five men to his one, and half of his force are ir- 
regulars. We have a splendid army, and he has a 
rabble.” 

“ I ain’t doin’ any talkin’ on that p’int,” said Zeb 
phlegmatically. “ I’ve come along to go a-scoutin’ 
with you, an’ when I go a-scoutin’ I go a-scoutin’.” 

We were now in the deep woods, and the time for 
talk had ceased, for in the presence of such an enemy 
as we had to face noise was a crime. Before starting 
upon the expedition I had discarded my officer’s uni- 
form, and donned the green of a New England ranger. 
My men were clad similarly. Thus we were of the 
color of the young foliage of the forest, and offered 
no bright mark for observation and for rifle shots. 

I was anxious to get a glimpse of our enemy. So 
far, save for the lone Indian in the boat, I had seen 
neither red face nor white. But as we were making 
our way toward Ticonderoga, it was not likely that 
we would remain unrewarded long. We pushed on 
nearly half a mile, and then, prompted by Zeb’s warn- 
ing whisper, we stopped awhile in some dense under- 
growth. He suggested that we would better advance 
now in Indian fashion. 

I took him at his word, and ordered the men to 
scatter about in the undergrowth and crawl toward 
Ticonderoga. We were to reassemble in an hour 
beside a large bowlder near by. Zeb slipped into a 
thicket and disappeared as noiselessly as a snake. My 
men spread out to the right and to the left, while I 
went straight forward, stooping over and stepping 
with great care. 

It is not an altogether easy or reassuring thing 


158 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

to creep up on an enemy whom you know to be vigilant 
by nature, and consequently I used my eyes and my 
ears to their fullest extent. Every time I advanced a 
dozen feet or so I stopped to listen and to look. Then 
I would resume my advance. 

I must say, though disclaiming any attempt at 
boasting, that I felt a thrill of gratification as well as 
excitement. The suspense of the moment and the im- 
portance of the coming events excited me and aroused 
within me such an intense desire to distinguish myself 
that I thought little just then of possible wounds or 
death. I felt an exhilaration which was wholly absent 
when I was preparing for the duel with Spencer. 

I came presently to a little knoll, from which I 
could get a good view of the ridge in front of Ticon- 
deroga, where we had been told a French force lay. 
The woods were dense at that point, but there was a 
rift in the trees through which I could see the ridge 
very well. 

I dropped down on my knees behind one of the 
trees and tried to catch some evidence of life on the 
ridge. But I could see no* living creature. Once 
there was a flash of light like a ray of the sun glancing 
off the gleaming surface of a bayonet, but I was not 
sure that such was the cause, and the rift in the foliage 
was not wide enough to permit further examination. 

While I still looked I heard a slight noise in the 
bushes ahead of me. It might have been made by a 
lizard or a bird, but since our adventure with the 
Hurons I had learned to suspect everything in these 
woods. I sank lower and hugged the tree. Then I 
was rewarded for my caution. I heard the crumpling 
of the leaves and grass again, and I believed that some 
one was coming. I took a peep around the tree, but 
saw nothing. The noise had ceased suddenly. I with- 
drew my head and listened again. 


A SUDDEN ENCOUNTER. 


159 


I heard a soft crush as of a footstep, and then a 
faint trembling of the air, as of some one breathing 
very near me. I moved quickly, and the stock of my 
gun rattled lightly against a stone. I drew up my 
gun in an instant and shrank against the tree. I still 
heard the restrained breathing so near to me. Some 
one was on the other side of the tree! Whoever it was, 
it was certainly an enemy, and I was sure that he was 
aware of my presence. If I could hear him he could 
hear me! 

The tree was large, perhaps three feet in diameter, 
and I could see nothing of the person on the other 
side. It was an absurd and yet a dangerous situation. 
I could not look around the tree to see who was there, 
for if I dared to do so I would probably receive a bullet 
or a tomahawk in my brain, and that would be an end 
to my fine military career. I could not withdraw, for 
then I would suffer a similar exposure. So for a time 
I lay quite still and listened to the breathing of the 
stranger, as I have no doubt he was listening to 
mine. 

I waited quite awhile for the man to make a move- 
ment, but he made none. The affair was bound to end 
somehow, so I began to creep around the tree, think- 
ing that perhaps I might be able to seize my enemy 
at a disadvantage. But as I crept around I heard him 
creeping also. 

Whether he was trying to escape me or to seize me 
I could not tell, but his movements kept pace with 
mine, and by and by I found myself on the Ticon- 
deroga side of the tree, while my enemy was on the 
side facing our camp, and neither of us had been able 
to catch even the most fleeting glimpse of the other. 

This added another disagreeable feature to the situ- 
ation. Any of the skirmishers of the enemy coming 
from the direction of Ticonderoga would be almost 


i6o 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


sure to see me. I must get back on my own side of the 
tree. Doubtless the stranger would be as willing as 
I to make the exchange, for he was exposed in the 
same manner that I was. 

I began to creep back, and the man, whoever he 
was, immediately did the same. In two minutes I was 
back in my first position, and the tree was still be- 
tween me and mine enemy. I had not so much as seen 
a tip of his finger or a hair of his head. 

Despite my peril, I was tempted to laugh. Were 
we to spend an entire day there revolving around a tree 
trunk and preserving the same distance between us all 
the while? I was convinced that my antagonist, or 
rather partner, in this matter was an Indian warrior, 
and I feared that his forest cunning would speedily 
enable him to devise some scheme for my taking off. 
I believed that I must forestall him if I expected to 
see another sundown. 

When I put on the forest garb I had laid aside my 
sword and taken in its place a knife, after the hunter 
fashion. I leaned my rifle against the tree, for it would 
be impossible for me to use that weapon at such close 
quarters, and drew the knife. My mind was quite made 
up to risk all in a sudden movement. 

Having steadied my nerves, I rushed around to 
the opposite side of the tree and came into violent 
contact with a heavy body that was coming at a con- 
siderable rate of speed in my direction. I was thrown 
down, but retained my grasp on my knife, and leaped 
lightly to my feet, facing my antagonist. 

My eyes met those of an alert, handsome young 
Frenchman, who was clad very much as I was, in 
dark-green hunting costume. He held in his hand a 
small rapier. We were so close together that we might 
have struck down each other with simultaneous blows, 
but something, I know not what, made me hold my 


A SUDDEN ENCOUNTER. 


161 


hand. Perhaps the Frenchman held his for the same 
unknown reason. 

He was not older than I, and doubtless had seen 
no more of war. At least, that Was my first impres- 
sion. It would have been an easy enough matter for 
me to plunge my knife in his breast, and probably it 
was my duty as a soldier to do so. But nothing was 
further from my desire. On the contrary, he looked 
like a man whose life I would much rather save than 
take. There was a dubious, but on the whole friendly, 
look in his eye. I did not know what to do. I was 
no less sorely puzzled than I was when the tree was 
between us. I looked him straight in the eyes. He 
held his rapier ready as if for a thrust, but he smiled. 
Then I blurted out: 

“ If you will retreat, I will! ” 

I do not know why I said it, and I fear much it 
was unmilitary, but I have never been sorry that I said 
it. I dare say he did not understand a word of Eng- 
lish, but he took in my meaning. He stepped back 
from me, and I began to withdraw in the other direc- 
tion. When a dozen paces separated us, he gave me 
a fine military salute with his rapier, bowed very low, 
and disappeared in the woods toward Ticonderoga. 

I never saw him again, but I know he was a gallant 
gentleman. 

I had found the enemy, though not in the precise 
manner and with the results that I had expected. But 
I had found him. That fact was obvious. Therefore 
I veered off to the right in the direction in which Zeb 
Crane had gone, hoping to fall in with him. My 
hope was fulfilled, for when I had gone twenty yards 
he came out of the bushes and greeted me. 

“ Have you found the French? ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” I said. 

“How many?” he asked. 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


l62 


“ I do not know,” I replied, telling the thing that 
was not with a whole conscience. “ It was merely 
a stray glimpse of their uniforms, and then they dis- 
appeared in the woods. I do not think they saw me.” 

“ Must have been the same force that I sighted,” 
said Zeb musingly. “ There’s a strong party of French 
not two hundred yards from us. I guess they’re on the 
same business that we are, scoutin’, only there’s a lot 
more of ’em.” 

I thought it wise to fall back, in view of this dis- 
closure, but I did not feel like saying so, inasmuch 
as I was an officer and also the commander of the 
scouting party. But this was a dilemma which was 
very quickly decided for me. We heard a rifle shot 
a hundred yards ahead, immediately followed by an- 
other much nearer. There was a heavy trampling in 
the undergrowth, and Porley, one of my men, ran up. 
His left hand was bleeding. 

“ A Frenchman fired at me, leftenant,” he said, 
“ and his bullet gave me this scrape across the hand. 
I returned the shot. We’ve stirred ’em up at last, for a 
whole swarm of French are coming down on us.” 

“ I guess we’d better fall back,” suggested Zeb, 
“ as they’re likely to be too many for us. ’Pears to 
me the battle for Fort Ticonderoga has begun.” 

We retreated rapidly to the place designated as the 
point for reassembling, and in a few moments all my 
men were there with me. 

The ground was suitable for defense, and I was 
disinclined to fall back farther, especially as the sound 
of firing was likely to bring us re-enforcements. We 
hid ourselves behind trees and stones, and there was 
not any time to waste either, for just as the last man 
secured shelter a volley from at least twenty rifles was 
fired at us, and the bullets made a pretty whistling over 
our heads. 


A SUDDEN ENCOUNTER. 163 

Our assailants were a strong- band of French, and 
they were coming on most zealously until they re- 
ceived our return fire, when their enthusiasm was 
much dashed. Theh they too sought cover, and for 
a few minutes there was some very fine and stirring 
skirmishing. The rifles kept up a rattling pop! pop! 
and one of my men went down. The enemy outnum- 
bered us so greatly that we would have been driven 
back, but we heard a cheer behind us, and a squad of 
redcoats, led by an officer in brilliant uniform, dashed 
to our rescue. 

“ Charge them, men ! ” cried the officer. “ Drive 
them into the fort! ” 

The men rushed boldly forward. The French re- 
ceived them with a desultory volley and retired. I had 
joined in the charge, and was near the officer when I 
saw him stop, look around in a bewildered way, and 
then fall in a soft lump to the earth. I seized him and 
lifted him up, but I knew that he was very badly 
wounded. 

All the men stopped and seemed to be overwhelmed 
by the disaster. Then I saw his face, and recognized 
the gallant young Lord Howe, the well-deserved 
favorite of the army. 

We lifted him in our arms and carried him back 
toward our lines. .But long before we reached them it 
became apparent that he had received his death wound. 

“Oh, cursed ambition ! ” he murmured, as if to 
himself, “ to have brought me so soon to this! ” 

Soon afterward he died. 

I was learning very early the cost of war and 
glory. 

But amid the bustle of the preparations for taking 
Ticonderoga there was little time to mourn. Three 
days after the embarkation on Lake George we moved 
forward for the great task. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE ASSAULT. 

“ It’s a story that will be told within an hour,” 
said Culverhouse as our army formed for the assault, 
“ and the last word will be said inside the walls of 
Ticonderoga.” 

“ But the artillery has not arrived/’ I said. 

“ It is not a matter of consequence,” said Culver- 
house. “ The bayonet will do the work.” 

“ And do not forget the Highlanders,” said Major 
McLean. “ They mean to go into the fortress first.” 

The old Scotchman was all animation and fire as he 
made ready for the battle, and he only laughed when 
Culverhouse said: 

“ I think an English regiment will have that pleas- 
ure, and I suspect that it will be a regiment in which 
I have the honor of holding a commission.” 

“ Very likely,” I said, “ when both of you get into 
Ticonderoga you will find Americans there to bid you 
welcome.” 

“ It’s a fine rivalry, and augurs well,” said the 
major. “ But we will make a compromise, and all 
go in together.” 

The forest now resounded with stirring sounds, 
and red coat and yellow epaulet blazed against the 
background of woodland green. The mountains re- 
turned the echoes of trumpet and shriller fife, while 
the steady rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat of the drums, as persist- 
164 


THE ASSAULT. 


65 


ent as the buzzing of flies, stirred the spirit of every 
one who had warlike blood in his veins. All around 
us was the vast hum of a great army forming for 
speedy action. Off in front the snarling of rifles told 
us that the skirmishers were at their trade, thrown out 
like antennae to feel for the enemy. The angry crackle 
was steadily growing louder, and the occasional spurts 
of flame in the undergrowth and the cry of some 
stricken soldier showed that the fire was beginning to 
scorch. 

It was now that I had a chance to see how a vet- 
eran conducted himself when going into battle. Major 
McLean’s figure seemed to expand, and he maintained 
a very erect carriage, but his manner was extremely 
precise. There was no trace of excitement about him. 
He spoke in calm tones, as if he weighed his words. 
But his eyes were flashing, and his head was poised like 
that of a hound that has the scent. 

The regiments were in line now, and were moving 
forward into more open ground. I was glad to see 
that the Highlanders were next to us. We would try 
to beat these famous troops into the fortress, and if 
we succeeded it would bring much glory to the colonial 
forces. 

As we approached the open the fire of the skir- 
mishers grew hotter. They were stinging us like bees. 
Not ten feet from me one of our men received a bullet 
in his brain, and with a little gasp fell over quite dead. 
Whether I felt fear or not I can not say, for every 
nerve was throbbing with excitement. But I did know 
that I felt an intense desire to rush forward, beat the 
enemy down, grasp the victory, and have the whole 
thing over at once. Some of our men were quite white 
in the face, as if all the blood had retreated to the heart, 
while others were red, as if all the blood had left the 
heart and gone to the face. But there was no flinch- 


1 66 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

ing, whatever they may have felt. I noticed that with 
pleasure and pride. Our lines were full as stanch and 
as steady as those of the kilted and bare-legged High- 
landers. Splendid men were they, but no more robust 
than our own tough and enduring Americans. 

We came into the open, and far away on either 
side of us ran the lines of the army, columns deep, a 
magnificent, gleaming multitude, flashing under the 
bright sun with all the colors of the rainbow. Ahead 
of us was a field covered with fallen trees, looking as if 
a hurricane had swept over it, and on the far side of 
the open, running along the crest of the ridge, was a 
breastwork, or abatis, the white uniforms of the French 
lining it in a triple row. Beyond that ridge lay Ticon- 
deroga, but the breastwork must be taken first. 

The skirmishers of the enemy had been driven in 
and their fire ceased. For a moment a silence pos- 
sessed the field, which was already sprinkled with 
bodies. Then there was a flash of light along the en- 
tire front of the army. It was the sun glancing over 
the bayonets as the men raised them, for we were to 
carry the abatis with a bayonet charge. 

“ The bayonet is the British soldier’s weapon,” said 
Major McLean contentedly, as he looked at the splen- 
did spectacle. * “ Nothing in the world can stand 
against the Briton and his bayonet. This may not 
be Malplaquet or Ramillies, but it will be a day to 
remember.” 

The army drew in its breath and began to advance 
again with measured step, though all but the veterans 
were eager to rush forward at once. The sun poured 
down a vast flood of light upon us, and everything 
seemed to swell to twice its natural size. The angry 
crackle from the rifles of the French skirmishers gave 
us another salute. Their bullets pattered like rain- 
drops on dry leaves. They had taken up a new posi- 


THE ASSAULT. 1 67 

tion in the foliage which nearly hid the breastwork, 
and we presented to them a glittering mark. 

As we advanced I noticed the puffs of smoke and 
fire, and I would wonder, in a vague sort of way, 
whether the bullet would find a victim. And, in truth, 
many took the lives that they were sent to find. We 
were leaving behind us a trail of the hurt and the dead, 
and I felt the sweat wet upon my face. The men were 
eaten up with impatience. Angry exclamations broke 
from them. They wanted to know why we did not 
charge instead of creeping along at this snail’s pace 
and letting the enemy shoot us at their leisure. In 
common with the other officers, I ordered them to be 
silent, and threatened them with my sword, but I must 
confess that I was as impatient as they. 

“Well done, lieutenant, well done!” said Major 
McLean, who stalked up and down in front of the 
Highlanders sword in hand. “ You bear yourself well 
for your first battle, and so do your countrymen.” 

He was down near the end of the Highlanders, 
where I could hear him easily, and his words were 
grateful to us all. 

A long, piercing, wailing shriek, like the cry of 
a panther at night, rose suddenly from the rear line 
of the Highlanders. It was the music of the bagpipes, 
which I had once heard Culverhouse say was alone 
sufficient to frighten all the French back into the 
farthest wilds of Canada. Then came a great burst 
of music from the bands, the drums beat the charge, 
and we broke into a run upon the breastwork. 

We raised a mighty shout as we sprang forward. 
I was waving my sword furiously at intervals, and 
then pointing with it in the direction of the wooden 
wall. My heart was beating heavily, and millions of 
black specks danced before my eyes. 

The dropping fire of the skirmishers ceased, and 


l68 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

then the silence of a few moments was broken by a 
succession of heavy crashes which seemed to roll from 
left to right. The twelve-pounders and the eighteen- 
pounders were talking now, and they spoke the last 
words he ever heard in many a man’s ear. But we 
swept on toward the fortress, shouting and cheering 
each other. We were foot to foot with the High- 
landers, and off to our left the red lines of the Eng- 
lish and the New Englanders were bearing forward in 
a vast, converging mass upon Ticonderoga. 

Sheets of flame split the smoke that eddied around 
the fortress, and occasionally by the red light we saw 
the gunners working at the guns and the skirmishers 
in the timber loading and firing their rifles. 

“ A hot fire, a very hot fire! ” shouted Major Mc- 
Lean in my ear, “ but the hotter it is the greater the 
glory for us.” 

I would have preferred less heat. 

He seemed to say more, but the roar of the cannon 
was now too great for me to hear his words, and as 
we rapidly approached the breastwork a new and ter- 
rific din was added. It was the rattle of the small 
arms, as steady as the rush of a torrent, and sharper 
and fiercer than the deep boom of the great guns. 
From the wooden wall the French were pouring upon 
us a deadly fire from hundreds of rifles and muskets. 
The bullets sang amorig us like the hissing of a million 
rattlesnakes, and curses and shouts of pain from our 
men were mingled with the infernal uproar. 

One of our lieutenants, John Norton, whom I had 
known nearly all my life, pitched over directly in front 
of me, his sword breaking in pieces as he fell. I stum- 
bled against him, but, recovering myself, leaped shud- 
deringly over his body and ran on. I was not hurt so 
far as I knew, but I was not conscious of anything 
save a fierce desire to get over the breastwork and at 


THE ASSAULT. 


169 


the enemy. I suppose that human feeling had fled 
from me, and the animal that lurks in us all had taken 
supreme control. 

Our front lines seemed to crumble away, but the 
lines behind took their place. A strange, nauseating 
odor as of blended smoke and blood assailed us, and for 
the moment sickened me. The fillip of a bullet that 
nicked my wrist as it passed stung me to renewed 
exertion. 

We crossed some water, whether a brook or a ditch 
I did not have time to see, and then we were into the 
timber that enveloped the breastwork like a green 
shroud. Only a little more now and we would pass 
through that scorching fire, pour over that wall, and 
overpower the defenders! 

Then a shout of rage rose even above the clamor 
of the guns. The lines, Americans, Highlanders, and 
English alike, recoiled. We were confronted by dense 
masses of fallen trees, with the tops lopped off at the 
ends, and every bough sharpened and pointed toward 
us. We had charged upon rows of spikes rising above 
each other, and as dangerous as if they had been 
made of steel. Lying behind this deadly screen the 
French and Indian sharpshooters redoubled their fire. 
Every twig and leaf spouted death. 

But only for the moment we recoiled. Brave men 
were there that day, and desperate too. Then we 
rushed upon the spiked timber and endeavored to cut 
our way through it and reach the enemy. The ground 
was cluttered with the fallen, and the ghastly heaps 
grew fast. I heard the bones cracking like glass 
beaten by a tempest of hail. But we did not yield. 
The smoke sometimes drove so thickly in our faces 
that we could only strike blindly at the spikes that 
fended us off. Many of the Highlanders, screaming 
with rage and cursing most horribly, drew their broad- 


170 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

swords and, grasping them with both hands, chopped 
with all their might at the insensate wood. I saw 
one impaled upon a wooden spike, hanging, stone 
dead. 

Some one struck heavily against me, and through 
the film of smoke I saw that it was Major McLean, 
still unhurt, his face as red as the setting sun, and his 
eyes sparkling with fury. 

“ Major,” I shouted in his ear — what prompted 
me to do it I do not know — “ it appears that we will 
not go into Ticonderoga to-day! ” 

“ If we do not go in to-day, we will go in to-mor- 
row! ” he shouted. “ No, by God, we will go in to-day! 
On, my men! Scotchmen, for the love of Heaven, do 
not let a few miserable Frenchmen and Canadians hold 
us back! Into the breastwork! Into the breastwork! ” 

The blast of a cannon split the column of smoke 
asunder, and I stood aghast, for I saw that only six 
or eight men were left with us. The major rushed 
toward them, waving his sword and renewing his 
shout : 

“ Over the breastwork, men! Over the breast- 
work!” 

There was a crash as of a hundred rifles at once, 
and the entire squad fell. Only the major and I were 
left. But he staggered and dropped his sword. I 
seized him and tried to drag him back, but he said 
haltingly : 

“ It is not worth while, lad, it is not worth 
while. I’ve a French bullet in my chest, and my last 
campaign is over. No, lad, I will not go into Ticon- 
deroga to-day, nor to-morrow either! Oh, to be beaten 
thus by an enemy whom we despised, and my brave 
Highland laddies slaughtered, too ! ” 

I dragged him back some distance, and as I laid 
him down I heard him murmur: 


THE ASSAULT. 


171 


“ Perhaps it’s as well for me. ' It’s a soldier’s death 
for an old man, and I have lived by the sword.” 

When some French soldiers came from the breast- 
work a little later, they found me weeping — for I was 
only a boy then — over the dead body of Major Mc- 
Lean. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A PRISONER OF THE FRENCH. 

I remained for quite awhile in a kind of stupor. 
I have only a blurred recollection of going somewhere 
with the Frenchmen, and of the roaring of the cannon 
and the rifles and the shrieks and groans of the wound- 
ed still piercing my ears, though it was but the echo, 
for the reality had ceased. Then I sat down, and while 
I sat there I dimly saw white men in French uniforms 
rushing about and talking very rapidly to each other. 
Then one of them stopped before me and began to ex- 
amine me as if for a wound. This brought me to my- 
self, and I sprang to my feet, ashamed of my weak- 
ness. 

“ I am not wounded,” I said in the French tongue. 
“ The shock from the concussion of the guns so near 
to me overpowered me for the moment.” 

“ I am glad to hear that you are not injured,” sa : d 
the French officer courteously. “ I can well believe 
that it was the explosion of the guns. Our fire was 
very warm indeed.” 

He added this rather proudly. I could not deny 
that he had a clear title to his elation. 

“ It was hot rather than warm,” I said, “ but our 
men will come into Ticonderoga nevertheless.” 

“ Only as prisoners,” he returned, though the in- 
tent of irony was not discernible in his tones, “for 
your army is in full retreat, and the fortress, the field, 
and the fallen are left to us.” 


172 


A PRISONER OF THE FRENCH. 1/3 

“ In full retreat! ” I echoed. “ Retreating where? ” 
I do not know/’ he said. “ Perhaps they are try- 
ing to overtake your general in chief. They say he 
was not near the battlefield.” 

When he spoke of our general his tone indeed was 
sarcastic, but I forgave him freely for it. If only 
Abercrombie were lying out there where Major Mc- 
Lean was it would be a great gain for the colonies. My 
conscience did not smite me for the thought. 

“Will you come with me?” he asked, still pre- 
serving his courteous demeanor. 

I followed him. 

I saw now that I was behind the abatis against 
which our magnificent army had so blindly beaten 
itself to pieces. I looked curiously at the defenders. 
Not very many were they, though they had been quite 
enough for the purpose. They were a gay-looking 
lot, too. There were the battalions of La Sarre and 
Languedoc, of Berry and Royal Roussillon, of La 
Reine, Bearn, and Guienne, all in uniforms of white, 
faced with blue or red or yellow or violet, their hats 
black and three-cornered. Mingled with them were 
the short, swarthy, and muscular Canadians in white 
uniforms with black facings. Some Indians prowled 
about. They had taken no part in the battle, but had 
come up after it to find plunder. The savages were 
almost naked, and evidently were in the highest glee. 
Never before had they seen such a victory. Often 
they looked fiercely at me as I passed, but they of- 
fered me no harm. 

Our way lay across the breastwork. A vast cloud 
of smoke was hanging over the fortress and drifting 
about the forests. As we mounted the works I heard 
cries which made me shudder, despite my efforts to 
control my nerves. 

“ They are bringing in the wounded,” said the 


174 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

officer. “ We shall attend to them as if they were our 
own.” 

Near a projection stood a group whose dress in- 
dicated that they were officers. The one nearest the 
edge was a middle-aged man, swart and small. His 
coat was thrown off, and he was gazing with great 
earnestness at the battlefield. I had never seen him 
before, but I knew from the respectful manner of the 
others that I was in the presence of the great com- 
mander, the Marquis de Montcalm. 

We did not disturb him, but presently he turned 
his attention to us. 

“ This is the prisoner, M. le Marquis,” said my 
escort. 

“ They tell me,” said the general kindly, “ that they 
found you soothing the dying moments of one of 
your fellow-officers, and that you refused to retreat 
and leave him.” 

I flushed at his praise, for in reality I had been 
scarce conscious of what I was doing. He looked at 
me very keenly, and then added: 

“ You are not English? ” 

“ No,” I said stiffly, “ but I am as good or better. 
I am American.” 

“ Ah! ” he said. “That is a point on which you two 
will yet go to war with each other. If France loses 
this war, one of you will avenge her on the other.” 

“ Meantime,” I said, “ we have much occupation 
in making France lose.” 

“The truth! the full truth from an enemy!” he 
exclaimed. “ How many men did you bring to the 
assault out there?” 

He waved his hand toward the battlefield. 

“ Many more, I fear, than we took away,” I an- 
swered. 

“ It is so, it is so,” he said, his face clouding some- 


A PRISONER OF THE FRENCH. 175 

what. “ War is at the best but a succession of horrors. 
The worst of those horrors is defeat, and the next is 
victory. My scouts tell me that you had near twenty 
thousand,” he added in a lighter tone, “ and I had but 
little more than three thousand. What will your Mr. 
Pitt, who was to acomplish such great things, say to 
this when he hears of it? ” 

His tone was speculative, not taunting. In fact, 
there was no appearance of egotism about this man, 
who had just cause for boasting had his mind so in- 
clined him. 

“ I sent for you,” he said, “ that you might help, 
to bury the body of your friend. You alone are able 
to identify him, and perhaps it might be a consolation 
for you to assist in this last service to a brave man. 
Devizac here has charge of a burying party, and you 
may accompany him if you pledge your honor to make 
no attempt to escape until you return to the fortress.” 

I accepted his offer gladly; and thanked him. 

He bowed and returned to his scrutiny of the 
battlefield and contiguous ground. Then I went out 
with Devizac and a dozen French soldiers to help 
bury the dead. 

The sun was setting already, and the darkening 
skies were casting somber tints over the battlefield, 
from which strange and awful cries arose. With the 
utmost effort I repressed a fit of shuddering which lay 
hold of me. The deadly odor which I had noticed 
in the charge again assailed me and sickened me, but 
I tried to affect an easy air and bearing that my hardi- 
hood might not suffer in comparison with that of the 
Frenchmen who accompanied me. 

The ground was sprinkled with red and green 
clothed bodies as far as I could see. Many lay quite still; 
others writhed about, and from them came the agonized 
cries. A half dozen wounded men had been placed 


1 76 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

against a stump, and a French ranger was giving them 
water out of a large tin cup. One of the men, who 
had been shot through the shoulder, was laughing as 
if he had been Wondrously amused. Yet his laugh 
was very horrible to me, for there was nothing to laugh 
at. But he did not know what he was doing, for his 
wound had crazed him. 

Another, whose right arm had been shattered, 
cursed continually and most hideously. I do not think 
his mouth was closed for a single second against that 
stream of imprecations which issued from his throat. 
But his face was entirely void of expression. Others 
were quite silent, and were as white as if all the blood 
had been drained from their bodies. 

A few Indians skulked about the field. They were 
decorated with the bright coats of our fallen soldiers, 
and carried other articles of spoil. They seemed to 
take no part in the burial of the dead or relief of the 
wounded. 

“ They want scalps,” said Devizac, who had the 
virtue of frankness. “ These red fellows are well 
enough in battle — better could not be found, though 
they did not help us to-day — but after the firing ceases 
I could wish them a hundred miles away.” 

I led the way toward the spot where Major Mc- 
Lean had given up his last breath. But before we 
reached it I heard a rifle shot from the edge of the 
wood. 

“Our army has not fled, after all!” I exclaimed 
joyfully to Devizac. “ Don’t you hear the skirmish- 
ers?” 

“ Oh, no,” he replied. “ That was not any of your 
skirmishers; it was merely one of our men shooting 
a wolf. They are beginning to gather.” 

This increased my anxiety to give speedy burial 
to the body of my friend, and presently we found it. 


A PRISONER OF THE FRENCH. 177 

The major was lying on a little slope with his dead 
face turned up to the sky. Its expression was en- 
tirely peaceful. After all, I do not know that I had 
any right to lament his fate. He had been the servant 
of war, and the master had not claimed the forfeit from 
the servant until he had attained fullness of years. 
There were many lying there who had heard the sounds 
of battle for the first and last times alike that day. 

We buried him where he had died, and then I 
continued with the party, helping to bury others and 
to attend to the wounded. As the night fell the air 
turned chill. The day had been hot as a July day has 
the right to be, but with the coming of the night the 
cold wind from the mountains drove the heat away. 
Some rain fell, and I shivered. But the dampness and 
the coolness were good for the wounded. 

When it was quite dark the wolves in the adjacent 
forests began to howl, and their long quavering yelps 
rose above the shrieks of the wounded. Many of the 
latter were still on the ground, and when they heard 
the howling of the wolves they knew well what it 
meant. They begged in most piteous tones to be re- 
moved. I must say for the French that their human- 
ity after the battle was equal to their gallantry while 
it was in progress. All through the night they worked 
among the wounded, and parties were sent in the wood 
to drive away the wolves. Devizac told me the animals 
were so fierce for the feast that they were shot at the 
very muzzles of the rifles. 

Devizac and I had become so friendly while en- 
gaged in this work of humanity that I ventured to ask 
him what would be my fate. 

“ You will be sent to Canada, most likely to Que- 
bec,” he said, “ and I presume they will keep you there 
until the war is over.” 

“ It is not the way that I would choose to go to 


178 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

Quebec,” I said, “ but it seems to be the only way in 
which we are able to get there.” 

“ War is as fickle as the King’s favor,” he replied. 
“ Fortune has been with us thus far, but it may go 
over suddenly to you. Your men are brave. Their 
lavishness of courage was as conspicuous to-day as 
their lack of knowledge.” 

“ We have no leaders,” I said. “ You give us 
Montcalm and take Abercrombie, and we will soon 
take Canada.” 

“ Why not ask for Canada at once? ” he said. 
“ While we keep Montcalm, we keep Canada.” 

I had neither the inclination nor the ability to dis- 
pute what he said. 

The night was now far gone. The cries from the 
battlefield were sinking, and all but two or three of 
the relieving parties had returned to the fortress. Devi- 
zac, with two of the French soldiers and myself, had 
gone to one of the distant points of the field. Devizac 
said he heard a groan, which appeared to issue from 
some bushes there, and when I listened carefully I 
thought I could detect the sound. I supposed at once 
that it came from a wounded man. We hurried for- 
ward, and I thought I saw a form skulking among 
some bushes, the tops of which had been clipped off 
by cannon balls. 

“ Whoever this man is his wound must be of a 
very peculiar nature to endow him with such activity,” 
I said. “ He seems to be dancing a minuet among 
those bushes.” 

“ I am not convinced that the man who groans 
and the man who dances are the same,” said Devizac. 

At this moment the dark figure leaped higher than 
usual, and something bright flashed in its hand. Then 
it sank down and disappeared in the bushes like a stone 
dropped in the water. 


A PRISONER OF THE FRENCH. 179 

Devizac ran forward, dragged the figure up again 
from the bushes, and threw it backward with all his 
might. Then I saw it was an Indian warrior, naked 
except his breech clout and a coat of flaming paint. 
He held his knife in his hand, and Devizac had inter- 
rupted his ghastly work just in time. 

A New England ranger, too badly wounded to 
move, was lying among the bushes, and had we been 
a half minute later the Indian would have scalped him. 
Even then the warrior, like the wolves which he re- 
sembled in ferocity, was not disposed to relinquish his 
prey. He glowered at us, and held his knife as if he 
were half tempted to strike. Devizac spoke to him 
in the Indian tongue. I did not know what he said, 
but the voice of the honest Frenchman rang with in- 
dignation. The Indian replied in a tone of equal 
anger. 

“ He says,” said Devizac to me, “ that blows have 
been plentiful and scalps few. He says he has fought 
on many fields for the French; now he demands the 
scalp of your unfortunate countryman as a trophy to 
hang in his lodge.” 

“You do not mean to let him have it?” I ex- 
claimed. “Why, the man is not even dead!” 

“ Living or dead, he shall not have it,” said Devi- 
zac. “ He shall commit no such act of barbarism.” 

The Indian advanced as if to carry out his project. 
Though I had no weapon, I started forward to pre- 
vent it. But Devizac was ready. He drew a loaded 
pistol from his po'cket and threatened the warrior with 
instant death if he attempted to touch the wounded 
man. This proved effective, as loaded pistols when 
properly handled usually do, and the savage with- 
drew into the darkness, still holding his knife in his 
hand. 

“They are dangerous allies,” said Devizac as we 


l8o A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

lifted the wounded man. “ Well, one who calls fire to 
his aid must expect to be scorched sometimes” 

When we carried the wounded man to the breast- 
work my labors of the night were ended. Then I 
lay down and sought rest. But the battle was fought 
over again in my distempered brain, and the light 
of dawn was beginning to appear before I fell 
asleep. 

When I awoke Devizac was near me. 

“ Go up on the breastwork there,” he said, point- 
ing. “ Some one wants to see you.” 

I obeyed without question, and, walking the way 
he indicated, saw a tall, straight figure which I re- 
membered well. 

“ M. de St. Maur!” I said. 

He turned and looked at me in a kindly manner. 
He was in his brilliant uniform of colonel, the same 
that I had seen him wear in New York, but it was now 
spattered and torn. 

“ Lieutenant Charteris,” he said, offering his hand, 
“ I am sorry to see you here.” 

“ Better to be here than lying out there,” I said 
with a sickly laugh, pointing to the field before the 
abatis. 

“We meet again sooner than I had expected,” he 
said, “ but we will make you as comfortable with us 
as we can. The Marquis de Montcalm likes you, and 
Frenchmen, thank God! still know how to treat brave 
men well.” 

There was a little reproach in his voice for the 
treatment he had received within our lines. 

I had the honor of taking breakfast with the mar- 
quis, the seigneur, de Levis, Bougainville, and other 
distinguished officers. After the breakfast I asked the 
seigneur about his daughter, Mile. Louise. 

“ She is at Quebec,” he said, “ keeping my house 


A PRISONER OF THE FRENCH. 1 8 1 

there ready for me when I return. It will please her 
to hear that you were uninjured in the battle.” 

The seigneur departed the next day for service on 
the western frontier of New York, and I saw no more 
of him for the present. 

The French seemed uncertain what to do with me. 
I remained a prisoner at Ticonderoga for some time, 
and they treated me well, though once a French sol- 
dier came very close to me and sang these words: 

Je chante des Franfais, 

La valeur et la gloire, 

Que toujours sur T Anglais 
Remportent la victoire. 

Ce sont des heros, 

Tous nos g^neraux, 

Et Montcalm et Levis, 

Et Bourlamaque aussi. 

Which, translated liberally, means: The English 
are but a mouthful for the French. 

The French like to enjoy a victory. 

Later I was transferred from fort to fort and camp 
to camp until the winter was far advanced. Once or 
twice I thought I would be exchanged along with 
others, but the matter always fell through. My treat- 
ment continued good. I had naught to complain of 
on that score, but I longed to be with my own people 
again in the active pursuit of my military career. 
Devizac, of whom I saw much, always stood my 
friend, and when winter had reached its climax he 
came to me. and announced in his gay fashion that we 
would soon take a temporary rest from trials and 
travels. 

“ What do you mean?” I asked. 

“ Why, that you are to be sent as a prisoner to 
Quebec as the most convenient place in which to keep 


182 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


you, and that I, since I am going there on other 
duties, am detailed to take you with me.” 

I was glad and yet sorry to hear it. I was tired of 
being dragged about from place to place, but in such 
a formidable fortress I would have small chance of 
escaping to our own army. 

“You are to be kept in very strict confinement 
in Quebec,” said Devizac in a chaffing tone, “ and you 
can’t guess the name of your future jailer.” 

“ I give it up,” I said. 

“ Why, it is none other than the Seigneur Raymond 
de St. Maur,” he replied. “ It has been arranged be- 
tween him and Montcalm, as both like you, and the 
seigneur requested it. I bid you beware of the Mile. 
Louise. France has other conquests to boast of than 
those of war.” 

He spoke in a tone half jest, half earnest. I had 
confided to him some time before that I knew the 
seigneur’s daughter, and told of her visit to New 
York. 

We prepared the next day for the journey to Que- 
bec, traveling in a sledge over the frozen snow. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AN ARRIVAL IN QUEBEC. 

It was late in the day when we approached Que- 
bec, but old Jean, our driver, said we would arrive 
before nightfall. 

“ Your words are most welcome, Jean, for by all 
the saints my blood has congealed!” replied Devizac. 
“How different is the New France from the old! Jean, 
I trust that you are a true prophet, for it is most won- 
derfully cold to-day.” 

“ Cold is no new thing in Canada, monsieur.” 

“ Nevertheless custom does not blunt its edge, at 
least for me, Jean, who loves the glorious heat of 
Provence, the land of my birth.” 

“ Frenchmen fear neither heat nor cold, monsieur.” 

“ Wisely and truly spoken, Jean, but a man need 
not love a thing because he does not fear it, and I 
have had a sufficiency for the time of the snow and 
the wind that has the saber edge. — Does not the pris- 
oner agree with me?” 

“ I have had enough, truly,” I replied, “ and I 
could well wish to pass speedily through one of the 
gates of Quebec, though my imprisonment will be- 
come a more assured fact the moment I am inside 
the walls.” 

“ If you pine for freedom and the companionship 
of your countrymen, you have my permission to leave 
the sledge at this moment and start for your own prov- 
183 


1 84 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

ince. No one of my men shall fire a shot at you or 
pursue you. That I promise.” 

I looked at hill and valley covered with the frozen 
snow, and listened to the fierce' wind that whistled 
around us. I thought of the long expanse of icy deso- 
lation between me and New York. I shivered in my 
fur coat, and replied: 

“ I will stay in the sledge.” 

Devizac’s hearty laugh rang out. 

“ He speaks the words of wisdom, does he not, 
Jean?” he said to the old Canadian. 

“ Monsieur, our prisoner is not without knowl- 
edge, even though he be one of the English,” replied 
Jean. “ He would freeze to death long before the com- 
ing of the dark, and the wolves would find a grave 
for him.” 

“ How sharp grows the wind! ” exclaimed Devizac. 

“ But it is no sharper than my desire to get into Que- 
bec, and, by St. Anthony, my appetite is sharper than 
either! A warm place before a blazing fire between 
thick log walls, with a bottle of the red wine of France 
and a haunch of the venison of Canada at my elbow, 
and I would be as snug and happy as if I were in my 
own Provence! And, by the Holy Virgin, you shall 
share these delights with me, Lieutenant Charteris, 
prisoner though you be and enemy, too, of our most 
gracious Majesty King Louis, who, I surmise, never 
heard of either of us, and would not give us a thought 
if he did hear of us.” 

“ A warm skin and a full stomach maketh a happy 
heart,” quoth Jean oracularly. 

“ You are an old man and should know, my brave 
Jean. Put us to the proof as soon as may be.” 

We were eight in the great sledge, Devizac, Jean, 
five soldiers, and myself the prisoner. 

We were wrapped in furs, but the cruel wind bit 


AN ARRIVAL IN QUEBEC. 1 85 

deep nevertheless. Our sledge flew along, the frozen 
snow slipping away like smooth ice under its runners. 
Now and then we caught a gleam of the mighty St. 
Lawrence, which seemed to be still and dead in its 
bed under the touch of Father Winter. The bare 
trees bent to the wind and gave back only a dry rustle. 

Still the blood rolled, warm, in a high tide in my 
veins. My muscles seemed to grow stronger and my 
faculties keener in the crisp air of the North. I looked 
forward with as much eagerness as the others and 
more curiosity to the arrival at Quebec, the citadel of 
the French power in America. 

We were on the north side of the river, and were 
fast nearing Quebec, so Jean, our guide, driver, and 
mentor told us. But as yet we saw nothing to indi- 
cate that it was an inhabited country. All things were 
lone and cheerless. If we trusted to our physical senses 
only, we could well believe that we were the first to 
enter this land. 

“ I see the smoke of Francois Labeau’s cottage,” 
said Jean at length. “ We will soon be inside the 
walls of Quebec, monsieur.” 

We saw a wisp of smoke curling up, and then a low 
stone cottage snuggling into the side of a little hill. 
From a window that seemed to be no more than a 
foot square a bright light beamed and fell, ruddy and 
cheerful, across the snow. We hailed it with joy, and 
even stolid Jean smiled. 

“ Yes, that is the cottage of Franqois Labeau, old 
Franqois Labeau,” he said. “ He is near to seventy 
now, but he still traps the silver fox far up near the 
frozen ocean, and when war comes is as ready with 
his rifle as a youth. He was at Ticonderoga, but he 
came back to Quebec in the autumn to help gather the 
crops, for food is as necessary as powder and ball to 
the soldier.” 


1 86 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

We passed more cottages, and presently we were 
hailed by a sentinel. Jean made the requisite ex- 
planations; in a few minutes one of the gates of Que- 
bec opened for us, and I was in the famous citadel of 
the French power on our continent. There were many 
soldiers and hunters and Indians about, but our ar- 
rival did not seem to stir up a great interest among 
them. 

Our sledge whirled down one of the narrow streets 
and then stopped in front of a low but very heavy 
and massive building. It was of dark bricks, and was 
but one story in height between the eaves and the 
ground, but the roof was very steep and high. Three 
or four chimneys rose through this roof, and a dozen 
dormer windows were cut in it. In the wall of the 
main story were many windows also, but all were 
heavily cross-barred with iron. In the center was a 
pretentious doorway approached by several steps. 
The eaves of the building overhung like the thatch of 
a pent house. 

“ That,” said Devizac, “ is' the Chateau de St. Maur, 
and I think you will find it a not unpleasant prison.” 

He and I left the sledge and approached the door. 
It swung back as if the inmates of the building were 
in momentary expectation of our arrival. A middle- 
aged man in a costume half of the soldier and half of 
the huntsman who had opened it stepped forward. 

“ This is the prisoner whom the seigneur is to 
hold, Pierre,” said Devizac. 

Pierre made no reply, but led the way down a long, 
narrow, and brick-floored hall. As I had expected 
from my knowledge of the seigneur, the house was 
such as people of a bold or martial character would in- 
habit. Indeed, the appearance of the watchman, for 
such I took him to be, was sufficient for that, as he 
carried a very formidable-looking pistol in his belt. 


AN ARRIVAL IN QUEBEC. 


IS/ 


The appearance of the hall was further confirma- 
tion. It was adorned with the heads of moose and 
caribou and with many weapons of chase and war. 
There were muskets of the ancient type, wide-mouthed 
weapons, which perhaps were used against the sol- 
diers of the great Marlborough, the longer barreled 
rifles which had become the favorite arm both of our 
own foresters and those of Canada, bayonets, rapiers, 
sabers, and curious curved swords from the Moham- 
medan countries, pistols with carved handles, a spear 
or two, and a battle-axe of the olden time, which must 
have been a very awkward weapon, though right dan- 
gerous when the blow was struck true. 

Near the end of the hall was a door opening on 
the right, through which the man Pierre indicated by 
a gesture that I was to go. 

“ Perhaps you will find your jailer in there,” said 
Devizac. “ I will join you at a later hour.” 

He turned away and I went in alone. 

The chamber which I entered was large, though 
the ceiling was very low. Its decorations were of a 
part with those in the hall. On the floor were many 
soft furs of northern animals. At the far end of the 
room, in a wide fireplace like those we had at home 
in the colonies, great billets of wood burned and 
crackled, casting up merry flames and sparks, which 
alike cheered the soul and warmed the body. 

But I noticed these things only for a moment. The 
master of the Chateau de St. Maur stood at the edge 
of the fireplace and held out his hand in greeting. 

“ I welcome you, Lieutenant Charteris,” he said ; 
“ you are my prisoner now.” 

“ Until I escape,” I said, half in jest. 

“ Attempt to escape,” he replied seriously, “and 
Pierre out in the hall there, who is wondrous quick of 
eye and a most excellent marksman to boot, will soon 
13 


1 88 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


persuade you that you are in good truth a prisoner. 
As your jailer, I am on my honor to keep you from 
escaping.” 

“ I shall refrain from the attempt — at least for the 
present,” I replied. 

“ A most excellent determination,” he said heartily; 
“ and that having been reached, take a seat by the 
fire here, which I verily believe will be welcome to 
you, for there is never a whisper of the South in the 
Quebec winter.” 

I drew near the fire, quite willing to bask in the 
grateful heat, He indicated a chair made of the twisted 
horns of the deer, and I sat in it, spreading my hands 
out before the blaze. He took a seat also, and we 
talked for a few minutes. I asked him presently if 
Mile. Louise, his daughter, was well, and he replied 
that she was, but happened to be absent from the house 
visiting one of her friends in the city. He apologized 
for her absence, saying that our arrival had not been 
expected until the next morning. Then he left the 
room, saying he would see if our supper was ready. 

“ You have suffered from hunger doubtless as well 
as from cold. I must fortify you against the one as 
well as against the other,” he remarked as he left. 

In about five minutes Devizac came in. 

“ Well, my dear lieutenant,” he asked, “ do you 
think the seigneur will make as good a jailer as sol- 
dier.” 

“ It is too early to speak with fullness on that 
point,” I said, “ but from the first I judged the sei- 
gneur to be no common man.” 

“ Further acquaintance with him will make that 
opinion the firmer,” said Devizac. “ You have most 
truly said that the Seigneur of Chateau de St. Maur 
in the city of Quebec and of the noble estate of St. 
Maur up the river is not a man of the common. Like 


AN ARRIVAL IN QUEBEC. 


I89 


myself, he was kissed by the suns of southern France 
in infancy, but a Frenchman loves adventure, and the 
seigneur had — nay, still has, for the matter of that — 
the spirit which led the old Spanish conquistadores 
into new worlds. A soldier while yet a boy, he fought 
at Malplaquet and Oudenarde against your own Marl- 
borough. After the great wars he came to Canada, 
and for more years than you have lived he has hunted 
and fought in this mighty northern wilderness. They 
say there is no Huron or Iroquois in all the woods 
who can track the moose better than he, nor any sol- 
dier with Montcalm who is braver, though most men 
of his age get no further than the tale of the exploits 
of their youth. His gracious Majesty King Louis 
has granted him a broad estate in Canada, no more 
than a fitting reward for one of the greatest French- 
men in this country. I repeat that the seigneur is not 
a man of the common.” 

My reply was interrupted by the entrance of Pierre 
with a burden that made Devizac’s eyes sparkle and 
me to realize that it is pleasant to be a-hungered when 
food is in sight. Pierre brought with him the haunch 
of venison, rich and steaming, and the red wine of 
France, not one bottle or two bottles merely, but four 
of them, waiting to be emptied by two men who were 
able to appreciate their quality. 

“ Pierre,” said Devizac, “ thou art an angel, though 
in person thou resemblest one but little. It was a 
noble buck truly to which that haunch belonged, was 
it not? ” 

“ He was a king of the forest,” replied Pierre, his 
- stolid features brightening, “ and he was running at 
■ full speed when the seigneur slew him with one of the 
longest shots I have ever seen. It was a noble feat, 
!and the seigneur was much pleased, though he is not 
wont to boast.” 


I90 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“By St. Anthony, it was noble!” said Devizac. 
“ It was royal, and the seigneur has the gratitude of 
Lieutenant Charteris, our prisoner, and myself.” 

With that we ceased to talk and fell to, and on my 
conscience I can say that I have rarely spent a more 
pleasant half hour in my life, prisoner though I was. 
The venison was truly fine, and though it is not much 
the custom in the colonies to drink such liquor, for 
we seldom see it there, I found the red wine of France 
very grateful and refreshing to the palate. Old Pierre 
stood for some time regarding us, though there was 
no expression on his somber face. Then he went 
out. 

“ Perhaps he could no longer bear to look upon 
the destruction of the meat and the wine,” said Devizac. 

I replied not, for I was in too pleasant a frame of 
mind to care for the feelings of old Pierre. 

A sound which at first resembled a whistle and 
then grew into a shriek pierced the heavy walls of the 
Chateau de St. Maur and came to ours ears. 

“ It is the wind,” said Devizac. “ It has risen into 
a storm, and its edge is as sharp as a rapier and as 
cold as death. How good it is and what warmth it is 
to the soul, M. le Prisonnier, to be within these solid 
walls drinking the red wine of France! ” 

“Listen, ’tis a louder blast than usual!” I ex- 
claimed, as the fierce wind beat upon the house. “Then 
drink a deeper draught with me, M. Devizac, my 
captor! ” 

With one of the bottles that had not yet been 
touched I filled the glasses until the generous red 
liquor rose exactly even with the edge. Not another 
drop would either glass contain. Then: 

“To your health, M. le Capitaine, my captor! ” 

“ To your health, M. le Lieutenant, mon prison- 
nier! ” 


AN ARRIVAL IN QUEBEC. I9I 






In a twinkling up flashed the glasses, and in a 
twinkling they were replaced empty on the table. 

Remember we were both very young then, and the 
cold outside was as bitter as death. 

“ Who cares for war and winter when the red wine 
of France flows full and free?” exclaimed Devizac. 

“ Yes, who cares? ” said a solemn voice behind. 
“ Who should care more than thou who art an officer 
of France and thou who art an officer of England? 
Who should care more than the young and the fool- 
ish, who are prone to think too much of this world 
and too little of that world hereafter which hath no 
end? Blessed Virgin, save them, for they are young 
and given up to the folly and wickedness of the flesh! 
In this solemn hour I may quote the words of our 
Saviour, ‘ Father, forgive them, for they know not 
what they do/ ” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A FIGHT FOR A KINGDOM. 


Devizac had just lifted the bottle to fill up the 
glasses again. He stopped with his elbow bent, and 
the wine continued to flow in a thin red thread into 
his glass. 

A priest, tall, French, elderly, and seemingly se- 
vere of countenance, had entered the room. He stood 
for a few moments regarding us with what was at first 
a gaze of disapproval, tempered at last by a slight 
twinkle of the eye. Then he said : 

“It is scarce fit for an officer of France and his 
prisoner to be roystering together in this unseemly 
and unholy fashion.” 

Devizac replaced the bottle upon the table. Then 
he said in a tone of deprecation : 

“ What would you have, Father Michel? It is 
true that Lieutenant Charteris is my prisoner. Now 
what are the duties of an officer to his prisoner? 
Should I kill him? If such are your views, good 
father, I will even perform the task at once, lest I suf- 
fer in your opinion for dereliction of duty. — Charteris, 
prepare for death ! ” 

He rose from the table 'and began to draw his 
sword. I guessed that Devizac knew his man. 

“ No,” said Father Michel, advancing, “ you ask 
me what I would have, and I say I will not have that. 
But what I will have is a glass of that red wine, which 
192 


A FIGHT FOR A KINGDOM. 1^3 

must have a noble flavor, for I see it has been sadly 
reduced in quantity.” 

“ Your choice lay between the wine and the sword, 
father,” returned Devizac, bowing, “ and you have 
chosen wisely. Father Michel, this, as you know, is 
our prisoner, who, I may add, is Lieutenant Charteris, 
one of the English colonials, and a heretic who is be- 
yond all hope of your saving.” 

“ Then, since he is beyond the hope of salvation, 
we will even let him go to the devil in a comfortable 
way, and take our own ease meanwhile,” said Father 
Michel. 

Then he sat down at the table, and Devizac poured 
a glass of wine for him. I looked at him with inter- 
est, and I said in my mind that he was a man of the 
world, of a cheerful heart, and ready to render unto 
Caesar the things that are Caesar’s. He drank his wine 
slowly, and evidently with a relish, though he did 
not smack his lips or depart otherwise from the 
gravity that is becoming a churchman and a man of 
years. 

Devizac filled the priest’s glass again. Father 
Michel sipped it a little and then replaced it upon the 
table, but retained his hold upon the glass as if he in- 
tended to keep it ready for any quick call upon it 
that might be made by his palate. Then he turned his 
gaze, still with the faint twinkle in his eye, upon me 
and said: 

“ Thou art a descendant of the English, which is 
bad, and a heretic, which is worse. What hast thou 
to say in thine own defense?” 

My head was tingling with the wine that I had 
drank, and there was a roaring in my ears, which 
caused me to resent his words, though I ought to 
have known better. 

“ It is you, not I, who are the heretic, if you will 


194 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


pardon me for speaking in terms of plainness, good 
father,” I replied. 

“ Add not the sin of blasphemy to all thy other 
sins,” said the priest, his look becoming- severe. “ The 
proof that thou art wrong lies in the fact that the 
Lord hath delivered thee into our hands.” 

“ Then,” said I, “ if that be proof, St. Paul was a 
very great sinner, for the Lord delivered him into the 
hands of his enemies, and they did their will upon 
him.” 

“ Darest thou compare thyself to St. Paul?” asked 
the priest, who I think was becoming somewhat of- 
fended at my manner. 

“ Nay, nay, Father Michel,” said Devizac depre- 
catingly, “ remember that even if our prisoner be of 
the Protestant faith, he is not devout enough in it to 
hurt. — Is it not so, lieutenant? Is your religion any 
great burden upon your mind? ” 

I was about to protest against Devizac’s defense 
of me, as well as Father Michel’s attack upon me, 
when I was interrupted by the return of the seigneur, 
who joined us at the table. Devizac poured a glass 
of wine for him. He drank it slowly, and I noticed 
how wonderfully similar his manner of drinking was 
to Father Michel’s. One was the soldier and hunts- 
man and the other the priest, but the one, I knew not 
which, had caught much of his manner from the other. 

“What was the matter in here, Father Michel?” 
at length asked the seigneur. “ I thought I heard 
voices raised to an unusual pitch of loudness when I 
came in at the door.” 

“ I was seeking to arouse this youthful heretic to 
a true perception of his wickedness and lost condition,” 
replied Father Michel, “ for into whatever depths one 
may sink there is yet a chance to rescue him so long 
as life lasts.” 


A FIGHT FOR A KINGDOM. 195 

“A most worthy purpose! A most worthy pur- 
pose, father, and it proceeds from the goodness of your 
heart,” said the seigneur, smiling at me, and then shak- 
ing his head as if in sadness, “ but I fear that the task 
is hopeless. The men from the English colonies are 
strangely set in the ways of perversion and wickedness, 
and are given up to greed and to the new democracy, 
which is a compound of all crimes and follies, with no 
spice of any virtue.” 

“ Your words are harsh, but none too harsh, I 
fear,” replied the priest gloomily. 

“ They mock at our holy religion,” said the sei- 
gneur, and whether he was now speaking in jest or 
earnest I could not tell, “ and at the divine right of 
the Lord’s anointed, our most gracious ' King Louis, 
Holy Virgin protect him! Nay, they mock even at 
their own King, and nothing that is old and honoured 
is sacred from their profaning touch. — Don’t be of- 
fended, lieutenant; I am merely speaking of the Eng- 
lish collectively, and not of you individually.” 

“It is so! it is so!” said the priest, the twinkle 
returning to his eye. “ Can not we convert them with 
powder and the sword? The Marquis de Montcalm 
well knows the use of both.” 

“And nobly he uses them,” replied the seigneur; 
“ but these sons of the English swarm in their colonies 
as plentiful as the wild geese that sometimes darken 
the air in their flight. When we slay one, ten take 
his place.” 

“ They come like the locusts in Egypt,” said the 
father. 

Then taking the bottle in his own hand, the sei- 
gneur filled his glass and that of Father Michel. They 
raised them high until the firelight flickered on their 
ruddy sides, and then drank their contents in silence. 
The wine having warmed them as well as us, we began 


196 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

a lively discussion of the war. Devizac was confident 
that the French would win. I think they began it to 
tease me, but soon we became very serious. 

“ Both our King and our Church seem to keep a 
firm grasp upon their own,” said Devizac. 

“ For the time,” said the seigneur, “ for the time, 
but will it last? I would have all this mighty continent 
Catholic and French, but wherever the sons of France 
go the sons of England go too. The Frenchman is 
a soldier and the Englishman a trader. The soldier 
is a fine fellow, and worth his price against another 
soldier, but he is not fit to carry on war against the 
trader. Though he may always have sword and musket 
in hand, yet the trader will beat him in the end.” 

“ In particular when the trader knows how to use 
the musket and the sword also, and fears not to take 
them up,” I said, annoyed at the evident slur upon 
our people. The seigneur had known me so long now 
that he could talk to me as to an acquaintance and 
not as to a prisoner. 

“ They have not yet shown the proof of their knowl- 
edge,” said the priest. 

“ But neither is there an end to the war,” I replied. 
“ They will yet come to Quebec. You will yet feel the 
edge of their sword.” 

I was flushed with wine, or I would not have 
spoken in such a high fashion. 

“ Are you a good swordsman? ” asked the seigneur. 

“ I have some acquaintance with the weapon,” I 
said, remembering with secret pride my duel with 
Spencer. 

The seigneur knocked loudly upon the table with 
his fist. 

Pierre entered. 

Bring me the two swords that hang in my bed- 
room,” said the seigneur. 


A FIGHT FOR A KINGDOM. 


I 9 7 


Pierre returned in a few moments with the weap- 
ons, fine, well-made swords they were, too, for the 
French, I believe, have always been very skilled in the 
production of such things. The seigneur took them 
and handled them lovingly, bending the blades over 
his strong wrists, and running his forefinger lightly 
along the edges. Then he put them upon the table. 

“ They are just alike,” he said to me, “ and you 
can take your choice. You say you are a swordsman. 

I am one, too, though in these later days I am more 
given to the use of the rifle than the blade, and we 
shall see who will win, English or French, Canadian 
or American. It is a quiet and peaceable test, such 
as two friends like you and I can make. See, I put 
these buttons upon the ends of the rapiers, and we can 
do each other no harm.” 

I was willing, thinking it an honor to face him, 
and we prepared for the bout. 

“ Devizac,” said the seigneur, “ look after Lieu- 
tenant Charteris; Father Michel, you will bear me up 
in this affair.” 

Then we took the swords and faced each other. 

“ Take the south end of the room,” said the sei- 
gneur, “ for your colonies lie to the south, while I 
take the north, which is Canada.” 

Devizac and the priest cleared away the chairs and 
the table, and assumed their respective stations. Devi- 
zac, who seemed to have a fine appreciation of the 
situation, took a piece of charred wood from the fire 
and drew a black line down the middle of the room. 

“ This is the boundary line of Canada and the 
English colonies,” he said. “ Now we shall see how • 
each defends his own.” 

The thing appealed to me in a much more forcible 
manner than it would have done had my head been 
cooler. 


I98 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ Very well/’ I said, “ and let victory rest with the 
better man.” 

“ So be it,” said the seigneur, holding his weapon 
with a practiced hand. 

I perceived that I had a formidable antagonist. 
But I was determined to win, for I felt the hot blood 
in my head. 

We stood facing the black line, and the seigneur 
made a quick thrust at me. He was almost within 
my guard, and the button of his rapier would have 
countered upon my chest, but I managed barely in 
time to catch his edge upon my own. Then I made 
a return thrust, but he guarded well, and my blade was 
turned aside. 

“Well done for both!” said Father Michel, who was 
watching the play of our weapons with the utmost in- 
terest. “ We shall have a fierce war, it seems. An 
old head against young muscles.” 

Our positions were unchanged. 

Then occurred some rapid sword play, the blades 
flashing back and forth and gleaming like lightning 
in the ruddy firelight. But nothing came of it. Nei- 
ther could thrust the other back an inch. Then we 
paused to take breath and strength. 

“ A half glass of wine for each,” said Father Michel, 
matching word with action and pouring the wine for 
us. We drank it without taking our eyes off each 
other, and then, resumed the contest. 

The seigneur showed an abundance of agility for 
one of his years, and two or three times I thought I 
was about to force him back to save himself, but a leap 
aside or a twisting of the body would avert my tri- 
umph. Presently I saw a most excellent opening, and 
thrust straight at his breast. But with a sudden and 
dexterous turn of the wrist he swept my’ blade aside, 
and drove the button of his sword against my chest 


A FIGHT FOR A KINGDOM. I99 

with such force that I almost fell, and when I 
recovered my balance my antagonist was across the 
line. 

“ The French are over the border,” said Father 
Michel joyfully. “ The French invasion of the Eng- 
lish provinces has begun, and may the invasion speed- 
ily become a conquest.” 

He took another drink of the red wine and watched 
us with eager eyes. 

I set my teeth hard and resolved to drive the enemy 
out of my territory. But I saw that it behooved me 
to be very wary. There was a satisfied twinkle in the 
seigneur’s eye, and that incited me to further effort. 
But he began again with such a furious assault upon 
me that, despite my best efforts at defense, I was 
driven back several feet farther. The priest’s ruddy 
countenance shone with satisfaction. 

“ It is a most prosperous invasion,” he cried, “ and 
fortune as well as skill attends the righteous arms of 
France! Our vanguard is almost within sight of 
their town of Albany! We shall take that, and then 
New York, too, shall fall before our arms.” 

Even Devizac, my second, looked pleased. But 
I had no right to find fault with him for it, as he was 
a Frenchman and an official enemy. 

The pleased twinkle in the seigneur’s eyes deep- 
ened, and he attacked again with great vigor, but I 
was too cautious for him, and it should not be for- 
gotten also that I possessed a fair modicum of skill. 
Presently, in his anxiety to penetrate farther into the 
enemy’s country, he lunged rashly, and I came back 
at him with much force and such directness of aim 
that I struck him on the chest and drove him halfway 
back to the boundary line. 

Father Michel frowned. 

“Caution, France, caution!” he said. 


200 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


The twinkle disappeared from the seigneur’s eye. 
I think it must have reappeared in mine, for I felt a 
flush of satisfaction and returning confidence. 

The severe exertion had partially cleared the effects 
of the wine from my head, which, however, had put 
more strength for the time in my muscles. My wrist 
felt like steel. 

I began now to push him, handling my weapon 
warily, but giving him no rest nevertheless. I noticed 
that his breath was becoming somewhat shorter, and 
I redoubled my efforts against him, for now I saw 
that my youthful strength would overmatch him, sea- 
soned and well preserved though he was. I pressed 
him back with certainty, though it was by inches. But 
the distance between us and the boundary line across 
which he had driven me at first narrowed steadily, and 
Father Michel’s face clouded more and more. 

“Courage, France, courage!” he said. “Never 
relinquish your hold on the enemy’s territory! Thrust 
him back! Thrust him back! ” 

The seigneur was willing enough to thrust me 
back, but the ability was lacking then, for I pushed 
him so fiercely that he was hard put to it to defend 
himself. Our rapiers rang across each other until 
the room was filled with the whirring noise of steel 
against steel. But he could not withstand my ad- 
vance. Presently he stood upon the boundary line, 
and if my success continued I would soon have him 
back in Canada, and then I would be the invader. My 
strength was now superior to his. 

“ Retreat no farther! retreat no farther! ” exclaimed 
the priest in his excitement. “ France never yields ! 
Strike hard for King and Holy Church! ” 

The seigneur’s face was overcast, and chagrin 
lurked in his eye, but nevertheless I did not spare him. 
I drove him across the line and entered his territory. 


A FIGHT FOR A KINGDOM. 


201 


I was well into Canada, and was pushing him farther 
and farther back. He put all his strength into a last 
effort, and the sparks of fire leaped from our weapons 
as steel warded off steel. Then I caught his sword 
with mine and twisted it from his weakening hand. 

As the sword rattled upon the floor I heard a loud 
shriek. There was the quick flutter of a woman’s 
dress, and the next moment Mile. Louise, whom I had 
supposed to be elsewhere, rushed into the room and 
gazed at me with indignant eyes. 

“What are you doing, Lieutenant Charteris?” she 
cried. “Fighting! You and my father!” 

I had not looked forward to any such meeting as 
this; quite the contrary. I was confused, and my eyes 
fell before her gaze, while I protested that we were 
but trying the foils in sport. The seigneur backed me 
up in fair and honest style. So did Devizac and the 
good father, and there we all stood explaining and 
apologizing to one girl. She gave a glance or two at 
the empty bottles and glasses, and then seemed to 
understand our explanations quite well. She held 
out her hand to me and welcomed me as a guest, and 
not as a prisoner, to the Chateau de St. Maur. I was 
egotist enough to believe that my welcome was sin- 
cere, for she gave me a warm smile. We talked for 
awhile very gayly of New York and the people we 
knew there. Her presence seemed to bring a new 
atmosphere into the room — an atmosphere that was 
of the sunshine and summer roses. Presently she went 
away, taking the seigneur with her. 

When they had gone, Father Michel turned a 
gloomy gaze upon me. 

“ You have won in the fencing bout,” he said, 
“but, pish! there is nothing in such things. I have 
always despised omens and signs as handicraft of the 
devil, designed to cheat the minds of honest men.” 


202 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


Then he, too, went out, and Devizac laughed as 
the door closed behind him. 

“ The good father will soon recover,” he said, and 
I knew that Devizac was right. 

Then he asked Pierre to escort me to my room, 
or my cell, as he took pleasure in calling it, saying 
with a sly look or two that it was a pity I had fallen 
into the hands of such harsh jailers. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A RIVAL APPEARS. 

My room was a square little chamber on the sec- 
ond floor, lighted by the beams of the sun or moon 
: sifting through the dormer window that opened like 
a cleft in the roof, too high above my head for me to 
■ reach it. It was evident that the seigneur, however 
: well disposed he might be toward me, did not intend 
that I should escape. My head had begun to ring 
j again with the wine, and my muscles were sore from 
my exertions in the encounter. 

Pierre placed a tallow candle on a box in the 
room. 

“You will stay here to-night, monsieur,” he said. 

“ And other nights, too, I suppose, Pierre? ” 

“ I do not know,” he replied. 

“ Suppose I escape? ” I said. 

“ The attempt would be very difficult and very 
dangerous for monsieur,” he said. “ The house is 
guarded, and, even if you should escape from it, you 
would then have to get out of the city. The chances 
are that you would be shot. Monsieur would show 
wisdom if he did not try it.” 

I decided that Pierre’s advice was good, and that 
for the present I would not attempt to escape. On the 
whole, I did not have much to cavil at, and I did 
not wish to give the seigneur cause to think me un- 
grateful. 


14 


203 


204 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


Having reached this sage conclusion, I lay down 
on a very good bed and slept heavily through the re- 
mainder of the night. 

“ Wake up, sluggard! Wake up! By St. Anthony, 
you must have a sound conscience! Must I pull you 
in pieces to awake you?” 

It was morning, and Devizac was tugging at me. 
I arose and dressed. 

“ I merely came to tell you good-by,” he said. “ I 
depart for the front in order to assist in waging war 
against your interesting countrymen, and I leave you 
to the care and the mercies of the Seigneur of Chateau 
de St. Maur and his handsome daughter, who, I trust, 
may not prove unmerciful. I will add also that your 
behaviour of last night commends you still further 
to the seigneur.” 

“ How so? ” I asked. 

“ The seigneur admires a good swordsman and a 
man of courage,” he replied. “ He is sure to be your 
friend in everything. But Mile, de St. Maur! Ah! 
beware of her! She regards you as a heretic and the 
incarnation of wickedness. And, my dear Charteris, 
beware of a French girl when she hates you. I, who 
am a Frenchman and not altogether without experi- 
ence, should know.” 

Then my good friend gave me another sly smile, 
said farewell, and left. 

My next visitor was the seigneur himself, who 
asked me very kindly about myself, and paid me some 
fine compliments on my skill with the sword. 

“ Pierre, who is most faithful to our cause, and 
whom, I warn you, you can not corrupt,” he said, 
“ will bring you some breakfast here. It will be of a 
rather rude character, for we must not forget that you 
are a prisoner. But we will make atonement at din- 
ner, when Captain Savaignan, between whom and my 


A RIVAL APPEARS. 


205 


daughter a marriage is arranged, is to dine with us. 
We will have you at that.” 

The seigneur withdrew, and Pierre brought me my 
breakfast, which was much more plentiful than he 
had promised. But I was not happy. The seigneur’s 
announcement, spoken with real or assumed careless- 
ness, that his daughter was to be married to a French- 
man named Savaignan, startled me. It shed a great 
light upon me, and I understood my own position. 
I wondered even at that moment why I had not under- 
stood myself sooner. From the first Louise de St. 
Maur had affected me beyond and unlike any other 
woman, and the feeling had grown without check. No 
doubt Mr. Arthur had really thought I was about to 
fall in love with his daughter Marion, but I knew 
better and Marion knew better, and both knew, too, 
now that neither wished it otherwise. 

As I ate my breakfast I nourished a hostility to 
this unknown Frenchman Savaignan, who had come 
in the way when he was not wanted. That Louise 
liked me I knew, and perhaps it might become more 
than liking. At any rate, I determined that I would 
see, Savaignan or no Savaignan. That may not have 
been a proper resolution to be taken by a man who 
was in a certain sense a guest in the Chateau de St. 
Maur, but I took it nevertheless, for I argued that 
Louise might be as hostile to this marriage as I was. 
I spent the morning alone in my room, but at noon 
Pierre appeared to escort me to dinner. With a great 
and natural curiosity I looked about for Savaignan, 
fearing that I might find some such gay and gallant 
young officer as Devizac. 

I met a man about forty years old, of common 
face and figure. Though he was not now in disguise 
or shabby attire, but wore the fine uniform of a French 
captain, I knew at once the spy whom Louise and I 


206 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


had met in New York, the one who had given his name 
at Albany as Leloir. But I repressed all knowledge of 
it beyond a slight start of surprise, which no one may 
have noticed. Nor did he affect to know me. That 
was not the place for either of us to recall an earlier 
meeting. 

Mile, de St. Maur was a dazzling picture. It seemed 
to me that she had grown in beauty, dignity, and grace, 
and even the first time I saw her I had been quite sure 
that she was the handsomest woman in America. She 
had come to dinner as to a great banquet, arrayed 
with the splendor of a maid of honor at the court of 
France, and Savaignan gave her a glance of pride and 
proprietorship, which irritated me. She acknowledged 
his compliments with an indifferent air, but she smiled 
at me. As the dinner progressed I became sure 
that she did not like Savaignan, and that the mar- 
riage arranged between them was not with any 
wish of hers. The belief certainly gave me a deep 
sense of joy, and inspired me to such a degree 
that I am confident I talked well and showed at my 
best. 

Captain Savaignan did not say much. The sei- 
gneur at last noticed Savaignan’s cold treatment by 
his daughter, and he frowned often, once or twice at 
me as well as Louise. I felt some compunction, but 
I was convinced that a man like Savaignan, whatever 
his wealth and position might be, was no fit match for 
her. He had played the part of a spy, too, and the 
seigneur should not want a spy for son-in-law. More- 
over, she was unwilling, or I believed her to be. My 
own position and circumstances at home were not 
so very bad. 

My confidence in the justice of my resolve was 
increased when Father Michel came into my room 
that night and told me that mademoiselle was much 


A RIVAL APPEARS. 20 *] 

averse to the union. The good father was garrulous 
and disposed to be friendly. 

“ It is not what the seigneur should seek for his 
daughter,” he said, “ for mademoiselle is a young lady 
of high spirit and intelligence. But the seigneur wills 
it. He and Savaignan’s father were comrades, and 
he has ever been a man of his own mind.” 

I have never been an admirer of the French mode 
of making marriages. 

I resolved to cultivate the friendship of the good- 
natured father, thinking that I might secure in him 
a useful ally. I confided to him that I had seen 
Savaignan playing the part of a spy. He said yes, it 
was true, and he had been much praised in Quebec 
for his boldness. For my part, I think little of spies. 
I do not think an officer should undertake the role, 
and I wondered why it had not set the seigneur against 
Savaignan. 

I found many opportunities for carrying out this 
plan of cultivating Father Michel, as, aided by the surly 
Pierre, he became in a measure my jailer. Under the 
escort of the two, I was allowed to go about the city, 
though I was compelled to keep away from the walls. 
But I saw enough to know that the French, despite 
all their victories, were in a bad way. High officials 
were robbing soldiers and people, and the help that 
France ought to send did not come. 

I talked to Father Michel about these things. I 
told him that the English and Americans would surely 
overrun Canada, and that the gallantry of Montcalm 
and his men might postpone but could not prevent 
the day when Quebec would fall. He listened, half 
convinced, and treated me with increasing courtesy, 
as if I were a man who might become his jailer after 
he had been mine. 

On one of our little walks we met Mile. Louise 


208 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


and her maid Marie. I have never known any reason 
why a man should not profit by his opportunities, 
and, finding that she was going to the chateau, I 
walked with her, the priest, with obliging humor, 
falling behind. 

It was a crisp, cold day, but we were well wrapped 
in furs, and she smiled so brilliantly upon me that I 
wished the journey might be twice as long. Just be- 
fore we reached the chateau the seigneur came out of 
a little cross street and, seeing us, frowned. He came 
forward and joined us, and his displeasure was so ob- 
vious that it cast a chill over us all. But Louise re- 
mained cheerful in appearance. She gave him a look 
that was half defiance, and walked by my side until 
we entered the chateau. It was evident that she had a 
spirit of her own. 

But that was the last of my walks in the streets 
of Quebec. The seigneur came to me the next day 
and said it would be necessary to send me away from 
the city. The orders had become so strict that either 
I must be kept in close confinement, which would 
ruin my health, or I must be sent elsewhere. He 
would like to arrange an exchange for me, but it 
could not be done just then. So Pierre and Father 
Michel would take me to his country chateau up the 
river. 

I was convinced that our meeting the day before 
was the cause of this transfer, but I was not in a posi- 
tion to say anything. There was nothing for me to 
do but to prepare for the journey and make the best 
of it I could. I sought for an opportunity to speak 
to Louise before I left, and luck and her maid Marie, 
who was my friend, aiding me, I found it. I was in- 
spired with some boldness, and I said that if I returned 
to Quebec I hoped I would not find her Madame 
Savaignan. I had never before made any allusion to 


A RIVAL APPEARS. 


209 


this proposed marriage. She flushed a little, and, 
avoiding the direct issue, said she had no doubt that 
Miss Arthur, of New York, would be glad to hear 
that I was kept safe from harm. Thereupon I pro- 
tested with such vigor, as I had protested once before, 
that Marion Arthur was nothing to me that she could 
not fail to understand my meaning, and blushed most 
divinely. But the matter did not go any further just 
then, for Father Michel arrived with the word that it 
was time for us to go. . 

The seigneur bade me farewell with dignity, and 
> yet with a certain warmth of feeling that betokened 
friendship. He seemed to feel a little shame, as if he 
\ were playing a trick upon me, but I appeared not to 
notice it. 

“ The manor house may lack some of the con- 
veniences of the city,” he said, “ but my people will en- 
deavor to make you comfortable there. And, remem- 
ber, don’t try to escape, for Pierre will be always close 
at your heels.” 

Louise gave me her hand in silence, and I gave 
i it a slight squeeze also in silence, which the tall old 
seigneur did not notice, and then we stepped into our 
sledge and departed. Before we had gone far I 
looked back once and saw her standing in the door- 
way. I waved my hand a little; she replied with a 
similar gesture, and then went into the house. 

“ She is betrothed to Savaignan,” said Father 
Michel reprovingly. 

“ Not with her consent,” I replied with emphasis, 
“ nor is she yet married to him.” 

The priest said no more, and before we reached 
the gate we met Devizac, who had returned to Quebec 
on the day before, though he had not been yet to the 
Chateau de St. Maur. I told him where I was going 
and why. 


210 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ I see,” he said, “ they are sending you away for 
the sake of your own safety.” 

“ Yes,” I replied. 

“ Umph! ” he said. < “ No doubt the movement will 
contribute also to Captain Savaignan’s peace of mind.” 

I did not reply, but I saw that Devizac’s keen mind 
had at once pierced the matter, and that in my absence 
he would still stand my friend. He gave me the 
strong grip of true friendship, and in a few minutes we 
were through the gate and speeding up the river to 
the manor house of Raymond de St. Maur, some forty 
miles away. 

We reached the place by dusk, and found it more 
of a blockhouse than a chateau. Father Michel said 
that in earlier days a few Frenchmen behind its walls 
had held back the hostile Indians more than once. It 
was furnished with rude though sufficient comfort, 
and was guarded by several worn old servitors, pen- 
sioners of the seigneur’s, all the strong men having 
been drawn off for the war. But decrepit as they were, 
they kept the most faithful watch upon me, aided by 
Pierre and the priest, and I saw no opportunity to 
escape. 

Thus the weeks passed, and the winter began to 
yield. The ice in the river broke up, and the snow 
was melting. A fair degree of outdoor liberty was per- 
mitted to me, though I was always watched by Pierre 
or some of the others. They carried arms, and I knew 
that any attempt of mine to escape would be the signal 
for a bullet. But with the fresh air and the exercise 
in the grounds of the manor, I preserved all my health 
and strength. My muscles were as firm and my step 
as elastic as ever. 

But as more weeks passed my stay there became 
terribly irksome. The good priest ceased to tell me 
much about the outside world. I knew little of the 


A RIVAL APPEARS. 


2 1 1 


war’s progress, and less of the Chateau de St. Maur 
in Quebec and of the seigneur and of Mile. Louise, his 
daughter. I pined like a sick girl. I had an intense 
longing to be with our own army and to be on active 
duty again. I wondered what had become of Culver- 
house and Zeb Crane and Spencer and the others. It 
is very hard to be a prisoner when one is only twenty- 
three. 

The Canadian spring came, and the world turned 
green under the south wind. It made the fever to be 
free grow in my veins. About this time Father Michel 
went to Quebec and remained two days, and when he 
returned he was sour and silent, and refused to answer 
any questions. I became provoked with him, and at 
last said: 

“ Father Michel, you have called yourself a friend 
of mine, but you are not as good as your word.” 

“ Perhaps I am better,” he replied. “ Here, take 
this note that baggage Marie gave me for you, and 
which I promised to deliver. My conscience and my 
duty to the seigneur forbid my giving it to you, but 
I suppose I must keep my word.” 

Then he went away abruptly, leaving me to read 
my letter. 

It was from Louise, and to any other would have 
seemed a commonplace little note. She informed me 
that her father and herself were well, and nothing of 
note had happened at the Chateau de St. Maur. She 
trusted that I was in good health, and was not uncom- 
fortable at the manor house. That was all, and it was 
signed “ Louise de St. Maur.” 

But the signature rejoiced me more than anything 
in the letter, for I did not know until then how strong 
had been my fears that in spite of everything she had 
become Madame Savaignan. 

I was so happy for several days that Father Michel 


212 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


looked at me very glumly, and complained that his 
conscience was giving him severe hurt. I only 
laughed. But as no more news came and the old 
deadly routine continued, my high spirits soon de- 
parted. I swore to myself that I could not stand it 
any longer, and prepared to take the desperate chances 
of escape. I have no doubt that I would have become 
a victim of Pierre’s bullet had not Father Michel come 
to me on the day preceding the night I had set for the 
attempt and announced that we were to return to 
Quebec and the Chateau de St. Maur. I was pleased 
greatly at the news. I would have preferred anything 
except death to life at that lonely country house at 
such a time. But I concealed my dislike, and asked 
indifferently the reason. 

“ I don’t mind telling you,” said Father Michel, 
“ that there has been a change of fortune, and the 
French cause seems to be losing. The English, so it is 
reported, are coming up the river with ‘a great fleet, 
and Quebec is likely to be besieged. All the lame, the 
old, and the priests, too, are wanted for its defense, 
and, not knowing what else to do with you, back we 
take you with us.” 

This was great news, and the zest of life returned 
to me. We started that very day, but on horseback 
this time, and when we approached Quebec I could 
see that the lines of defense had been increased since 
I left. It was not permitted me to observe long. I 
was escorted through the gates and taken at once to 
the Chateau de St. Maur, with but a glimpse of the 
streets as I passed. But it was sufficient to convince 
me that all trade and ordinary life had ceased, and 
Quebec was but an armed camp. I suspected that 
military matters were even nearer to a great crisis 
than Father Michel had said. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE SOUND OF THE GUNS. 

The Chateau de St. Maur was massive and silent 
as we approached. To Pierre’s resounding knocks 
the seigneur himself, a little more worn and anxious, 
but as stern and defiant as ever, responded. He gave 
me a dubious welcome, half pleasure, for I knew he 
liked me, and half regret that I should be there again. 

“ I was sorry to disturb you in your enjoyment of 
country life, Lieutenant Charteris,” he said, with an 
attempt at lightness, “ but we could not leave you there 
to live that life alone.” 

I said that I preferred Quebec even as a prisoner, 
and then we went into the house. I saw nothing of 
Louise, and the seigneur did not refer to her. On 
her father’s account I asked nothing about her. But 
I met her presently in one of the halls accompanied by 
her maid, and the brightness of her eye and the deep- 
ening roses in her cheeks told me that I had lost noth- 
ing by absence. 

Marie was a discreet little woman, and, as I have 
said, a friend of mine. She walked some yards away, 
and while she was staring at the ceiling I told Louise 
that I trusted she would never become Madame Sa- 
vaignan. She shook her head as if in doubt, and 
blushed, and then Marie came back and took her 
away. A half hour later Marie brought me word 
that the seigneur wished to see me. 

213 


214 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


I went down to the room in which the seigneur 
and I had fought our mock duel, and found him alone 
and much troubled. 

“ Father Michel has perhaps told you,” he said, 
“ that Quebec is likely to be besieged very soon. Al- 
though it is against my wish, I shall be compelled to 
keep you a close prisoner for awhile, but I do not think 
it will be long.” 

“ Do you anticipate the speedy fall of Quebec?” I 
asked. 

The old seigneur, grand seigneur, drew himself up 
in defiance, and his eyes flashed at the thought of sur- 
render. 

“ The English take Quebec! ” he exclaimed. “ Not 
while Montcalm is here and has with him Frenchmen 
as true as himself!” 

It was such a defiance as I had expected, and to 
hear it was why I had asked the question. 

With more apologies for locking me up, he went 
back with me to my room and left me there. I spent 
two days in that little chamber alone, save for the 
visits of Pierre and Father Michel. The priest told me 
that the seigneur was nearly always absent now from 
the chateau, helping in the preparations for the defense 
of the city. 

I would hear sometimes a great clash of arms and 
military music in the street, and I would have given 
much to see what was going on, but I was compelled 
to content myself with surmises. 

“ Come out of this room,” said Father Michel to 
me on the morning of the third day, “ and you can 
see the troops that are going to pass to-day. I do 
not think you are likely to escape so long as you are 
in my company.” 

I accepted the invitation with gladness, and we 
went out into a narrow hall and then up a steep little 


THE SOUND OF THE GUNS. 


215 


flight of steps to one of the dormer windows in the 
roof. The good father opened it, and the fresh air 
of God rushed ’in on my face. I had been only two 
days in close confinement, but that was two days too 
much. 

The priest and I thrust our heads out and looked 
about us. I did not see much but a narrow street and 
a maze of red-tiled roofs, but it was enough to bring 
back my old fierce desire for liberty. 

“ Listen to the drum,” said Father Michel. “ The 
troops are coming.” 

* I heard the faint rat-a-tat in the clear air. Soon 
it grew louder and swelled in volume, trumpet and fife 
mingling with the deeper notes of the drum. Then a 
regiment of French regulars, in their white uniforms, 
marching with beautiful precision, came in sight. Be- 
hind them were Canadian huntsmen in forest green. 
Aloft upon a banner borne in the front rank waved 
the lilies of France. The music grew louder. Though 
I was an enemy, I was also a military man, and it ap- 
pealed to me. The people in the street set up a great 
shout, and I heard a slight feminine cheer very near 
me. I looked around and saw that it was Louise. 
She was standing at the dormer window next to us, 
her face flushed with enthusiasm and looking more 
brilliant and beautiful than ever in the clear daylight. 
A bow of satin ribbon on her shoulder was knotted 
into the likeness of the lilies of France. I could for- 
give the enthusiasm she showed, for she was a French- 
woman and these were her people. 

Some of the soldiers in the street, seeing her face 
at the window, raised a cheer. The officers drew their 
swords and saluted her with great grace and gallantry. 
Knowing somewhat of the feelings of soldiers, especial- 
ly youthful ones, I was aware that her brilliant and 
approving face at the window cheered and inspired 


2l6 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


these men. I groaned inwardly at my own fate which 
kept me bound there a prisoner. 

The soldiers passed on. The cheering crowd fol- 
lowed them, and the sound of music became fainter. 

“ They are gone,” said Father Michel. “ May vic- 
tory attend them ! ” 

“ I add my wish to that,” said Louise, “ but it is 
a sad war.” Then her face fell as she looked at me. 
I believed that I could read her mind. She could not 
be the daughter of her father and not have the true 
French spirit and patriotism, but such feelings were 
forced to encounter other emotions now. 

I remained silent and went back to my prison, 
growing morbid over the thoughts that I must remain 
shut up there while others were doing or trying to do 
great things. 

Pierre brought my supper and left candles. I sat 
for a long time meditating, looking now and then up 
at the little dormer window, which, however, seemed 
to hold out no possibility of escape. It grew dark 
outside, and I had decided to end my meditations for 
the time by going to bed and seeking a sound sleep 
when I heard a heavy, dull report far away, but dis- 
tinct, and echoing through the night. 

I remained quite still and listened intently. In two 
or three minutes I heard the booming sound again, 
and then the echo. I knew that it was the report of 
a heavy cannon, and, moreover, that the bombard- 
ment of Quebec had begun. Perhaps it had begun 
before my arrival, and this was but a renewal after a 
period of rest. 

For an hour I sat there, and I counted fourteen 
distinct reports; then they ceased, the fire probably 
stopped by the increasing darkness. I was thrilled 
with excitement, and it was a long time before I could 
compose myself for sleep. In fact, I lay awake many 


THE SOUND OF THE GUNS. 21? 

hours listening for the great guns, but I did not hear 
them any more that night. 

The seigneur seemed to repent of his severity, and 
on the next day more liberty was permitted to me. 
I could go about the halls on the upper floor, but I 
was watched always by that sour-faced wretch Pierre, 
who carried a long-barreled pistol in his belt. He 
never relaxed his vigilance, as I soon discovered. I 
remembered the dormer window from which I had 
seen the soldiers, and thought it would be pleasant 
to take the fresh air again. I mounted to the little 
flight of steps, and was feeling around for the fasten- 
ings when the voice of Pierre spoke out: 

“ If monsieur is attempting to escape, he will show 
wisdom by abandoning the effort. I have a very large 
ball in my pistol, and the wound it would make would 
probably mean death.” I looked around and saw 
Pierre with his long pistol in his hand. I assured him 
with some haste that it was not my purpose to leave 
the chateau, and that I was merely bent upon taking 
the air. 

“ I think it would be much better if monsieur would 
return to the room that has been assigned to him,” 
he said. 

I took him at his word and went back to my 
room. 

I foresaw that if ever I escaped I would have to 
foil Pierre. 

Two or three days more passed thus. I saw the 
seigneur once, Louise twice, though but briefly, and 
Father Michel often. The good priest was much pre- 
occupied, but in reply to my questioning about the 
bombardment, which I heard at intervals, he said the 
English were making no progress. But he added that 
the fire of the ships was doing damage in the town, 
and the quarrels among the great officials were in- 


218 a SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

creasing. With such small rations of news I was 
forced to content myself. 

I was sitting in my chamber one evening after my 
last talk with him, thinking with much gloom over 
my situation, when I heard the sound of music below. 
It was of a light and frolicsome character, and I won- 
dered greatly thereat; but to wonder was all I could 
do. My door was locked, the wretch Pierre having 
done it, and I could not get out to see. This pro- 
ceeded for some time, and I was filled with curiosity, 
but I could make nothing of it. Occasionally above 
the music rose the sound of voices in laughter. 

I had been listening to these sounds for about an 
hour when I heard some one at my door. It was 
thrown open, and the round and rubicund Father 
Michel entered. His face was all abeam with good 
humor. 

“ Well, M. le Prisonnier,” he broke out, “ I told 
the seigneur it was not right that you should be locked 
up here, heretic and enemy though you be, while we 
were enjoying our festivities.” 

“Festivities!” I said. “That accounts for the 
music that I have heard.” 

“ You speak truth,” said Father Michel, “ and a 
portion of that music was made by Mile, de St. Maur 
herself upon her harp, which was brought all the way 
from France. Know then that Captain Savaignan has 
returned to Quebec. Whether he has distinguished 
himself in the war I know not, but the seigneur would 
make a feast for his son-in-law that is to be, and he 
is now present with other guests in the great dining 
hall below. So I have come to tell you that the house 
is free to you for an hour or two.” 

I was greatly disturbed by Savaignan’s return and 
the news that a banquet was made for him — a banquet 
to which it seemed I had been invited only as an after 


THE SOUND OF THE GUNS. 


219 


thought or as a concession to bare politeness. Sus- 
pecting that I was not wanted, and that my presence 
would be a restraint upon the hilarity of the company, 
I told Father Michel I would not join him at the 
table, but I accepted the freedom of the house. 

“ Since you will not go with me then, I must re- 
turn alone to the banquet chamber,” said Father 
Michel, “ for the wine there is good and the venison 
is good and the company is good, and I would fain 
miss none of them.” 

He left me alone in the hall, and I wandered about 
the chateau, examining its curious construction, so dif- 
ferent from the mode of building we practiced in the 
colonies, and listening now and then to the sounds 
of revelry, which now I could hear much more plainly. 
I was stirred, too, by feelings of jealousy. Louise 
might yield at last to her father’s wish. 

I went to the dormer window again, but found it 
fastened. Through the diamond pane I could see 
splashes of rain whirled about by the wind in the dusk. 
It was a fit night for the French to make merry in- 
doors. 

I turned away from the window and went down the 
hall until I came to the flight of steps that led to the 
lower floor. They were unobstructed. I went softly 
down the steps, somewhat struck by the fact that there 
was no one about, and arrived in the lower hall. I 
strolled along, listening to the echoes of the music and 
the laughter, and became aware that some one was 
following me. It was not that I heard any noise 
behind me; it was merely an aroused consciousness, a 
sense of human presence, conveyed to me by some un- 
known agency. 

I turned about, and there was Pierre treading silent- 
ly. He said nothing when I looked at him, but stopped 
and watched me. I moved on, and Pierre followed 
15 


220 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


after. When I stopped again he stopped also, and 
when I started again he started also. There was much 
annoyance in this, but it would have been useless to 
speak to Pierre, so I made up my mind even to endure 
it as best I could. 

I passed in front of the banquet hall and listened 
for a few minutes. I heard mademoiselle singing a 
piquant and picturesque little song of the south of 
France, and accompanying herself upon the harp. I 
listened with much pleasure and attention. There was 
a note in the singer’s voice which appealed to my sym- 
pathy. When the song ended there was a great clap- 
ping of hands and chorus of bravos. Then everybody 
fell to laughing and talking, and I moved on, feeling 
much bitterness of spirit, for I was but young, and 
liked to share in scenes of good humor and gayety. 

But as I left I heard the seigneur call in a stalwart 
voice, a little husky with wine perhaps, for Pierre. 
There was relief in that, for then I might slip away 
from the pestiferous spy; not that I had any inten- 
tion or hope of escaping, but ’tis an uncomfortable 
thing to be followed around and spied upon by any 
one. 

I went farther down the hall, and saw a door stand- 
ing half open. Knowing no reason why I should not 
explore, I pushed it farther open and entered a very 
small apartment furnished in half military style. I 
judged it to be a species of lounging room of the 
seigneur’s. It was lighted by one of the heavily cross- 
barred windows which opened upon the street. I lay 
hold of this window, but- found it to be fastened in 
such a way that I could not open it. Accordingly, 
I pulled a chair made of curiously twisted deer horns 
and stuffed with fur up to the window and sat in it, 
determined to make myself as comfortable as the cir- 
cumstances would permit. The noises of the banquet 


THE SOUND OF THE GUNS. 221 

came to me but faintly there. The street seemed to 
be without life, and, as there was nothing to occupy 
my eyes or my ears, I fell to thinking of my old com- 
panions, Culverhouse and the others. 

Presently I heard male voices singing. Doubtless 
the guests had drunk much wine by this time, and 
Mile, de St. Maur had withdrawn, for the French 
women have not the freedom which is accorded to ours 
in America. The song was gay in words and tune, 
and I found it to be of such soothing quality that I 
fell half asleep listening. When one is dozing thus he 
is scarce conscious of the passage of time, and perhaps 
it was very late when I was aroused by a hasty foot- 
step and a voice crying, “ Keep away, monsieur! ” 
half in fright and half in anger. 

Louise had entered the little room and was stand* 
ing with her face to the door. The light filtered 
through the panes upon her face, which was flushed, 
while her eyes were sparkling with wrath. Her anger, 
like everything else, it seemed to me, became her. 
Then I looked beyond her and saw Captain Savaignan 
in the doorway. 

I had not at any time seen any particulars in which 
Captain Savaignan called for admiration, and just now 
the seigneur himself could not have called him en- 
gaging, however much he might have wished for him 
as a son-in-law. He staggered against the doorsill 
and leered at Louise. 

“You shall not follow me here!” said she, very 
angrily. 

“ I but wish to salute Mile, de St. Maur, who is 
soon to be Madame Savaignan,” he said with a 
drunken hiccough. 

“ That time will never come,” she said disdain- 
fully. 

“ It is the will of your father,” he said. 


222 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ But not mine,” she returned with flashing eyes, 
“ and I refuse now to carry out the contract” 

Dear Louise! How beautiful she looked in- her 
wrath ! 

“ Mademoiselle has queer taste. If she does not 
like me, Captain Savaignan, perhaps she likes some 
one else,” said he. 

Mile, de St. Maur did not answer. 

“Some one else! Some one else! ” he repeated in 
a kind of drunken soliloquy. “ It is the prisoner, the 
American lieutenant, whom the seigneur holds in this 
chateau! Yes, that is the man whom mademoiselle 
prefers to me. I knew it long ago when I saw you 
together in New York.” 

He slapped his hands together in glee like a boy 
who has solved a riddle. Louise reddened, but she 
remained silent. 

Savaignan burst into a loud laugh. 

“ Well, it does not matter,” he said. 

“ Out of my way, sir! ” she exclaimed fiercely. 

But he slipped forward and seized her by both 
wrists. The next moment he would have kissed her, 
but I sprang from the chair and, striking him with all 
the force of an arm which had a fine endowment of 
muscle, sent him sprawling against the wall. From 
the wall he rebounded and fell in a limp heap upon the 
floor. 

Louise uttered a cry of surprise and relief when 
she saw me and fled from the room. 

I could not follow her, for Savaignan demanded 
my attention. 

He rose from the floor and faced me. He was a 
most unpresentable sight. My blow seemed to have 
sobered him, but it had caused the blood to flow over 
his yellow face and to dye red streaks in his black 
mustache. 


THE SOUND OF THE GUNS. 223 

“And so it is the prisoner who has interfered!” 
he said, with what he intended to be very sharp sar- 
casm. 

“ Yes,” I replied, “ it was my good luck to pro- 
tect Mile, de St. Maur from you, you spy.” 

“ Perhaps she did not desire protection,” he said. 

“ I would give you another blow for that, but your 
face is already too ugly,” I replied. 

“ I shall see that the seigneur punishes his prisoner 
for a blow and an insult to his guest, the man to whom 
he has chosen to give his daughter,” he said. “ Pierre 
here shall be a witness of what I say.” 

Pierre had appeared suddenly at the side of Savai- 
gnan like a wraith rising up from the floor, but I did 
not care for either him or Savaignan. I felt a great 
exhilaration. I had saved the girl I loved from insult 
and I had punished the insulter. So I told them care- 
lessly that they might do whatsoever they chose, even 
to going out and jumping into the St. Lawrence if they 
felt like it, and then I went back to my prison room 
sure that the banquet had come to a sudden end, for 
a few minutes later I heard the rapid boom of great 
guns, and I knew that the presence of all the officers 
would be demanded at the scene of action. Savaignan, 
I said to myself, with much satisfaction, would be a 
more presentable sight for the next day or two in a 
camp than in a drawing room. 




CHAPTER XXL 

OUT OF THE CHATEAU. 

I fell asleep in a short time, and far in the night 
I was awakened by a slight scratching noise, as if 
made by a cat. There were no cats in the Chateau 
de St. Maur. At least I had never seen nor heard of 
any, and I sat up and listened for the noise again. I 
heard it, and very distinctly, too, but I could not tell 
whence it came. It seemed to be all around. Could 
some wild animal have got into my room? That was 
scarce possible in the center of the city of Quebec. 

It was so dark that I could not see the walls of 
the room, but a little light came in at the high dormer 
window. This light fell like a shaft on a spot in the 
center- of the floor. Suddenly the shaft of light dis- 
appeared, and then in a moment it reappeared. Then 
it disappeared again. I looked up at the window. It 
had been blotted out, and now I was able to place 
the scratching noise. It proceeded from the window. 

Some one was on the roof and was trying to enter 
my room through the window. 

I had no doubt that my theory was correct from 
the moment it flashed upon me. Who could it be? 
It might be Savaignan seeking a way in which he 
could murder me for revenge, and then escape without 
leaving evidence against himself. But a little cool 
reflection made me put aside that guess. It was too 
improbable. 


224 


OUT OF THE CHATEAU. 


225 


It was easy enough to wait and see what would 
happen, and I slipped softly off my bed and withdrew 
into the darkest corner of my room. If it were an 
assassin I would give him as little chance as possible 
to do me harm. 

A hand’s breadth of light appeared again at the 
window, and the scratching became louder. This 
lasted for a minute or two, and then the window was 
closed again entirely. But my eyes had now grown 
more accustomed to the dusk of the room, and I saw 
that a human body had been thrust through the win- 
dow. A pair of long slender legs dangled and kicked 
about as if feeling for a footing. Then a pair of shoul- 
ders followed, and the figure dropped lightly to the 
floor, landing as softly as if it were a cat and not a 
man. 

The man stood for a moment in the attitude of one 
listening, and with his hand in his belt, as if it clutched 
a weapon. It was too dark for me to see the face, but 
I was devoured with curiosity to know the meaning 
of this strange visitation and the identity of my visitor. 

“ Leftenant! leftenant! Where are you? Where 
are you? ” 

I barely checked a cry of amazement, for the sharp 
whisper was that of Zeb Crane. 

“ Here I am, Zeb ! ” I said, walking to the center 
of the room. “ How in the name of all that is miracu- 
lous have you managed to get here?” 

“ Set down on the bed there, leftenant,” said Zeb 
authoritatively; “ I want to talk to you.” 

“ What is it? ” I asked, obediently taking my seat. 

“ Waal, in the first place,” said Zeb complainingly, 
“ I want to say you have got a mighty poor window 
in your room up there. I think I took a splinter with 
me as I came through, an’ I don’t like it.” 

“ Never mind the window,” I said impatiently. 


226 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ But I do mind it,” said Zeb, “ an’ I wanted to 
speak of it right now afore other things made me for- 
get it. Leftenant, I’ve crawled through your window 
there to help you escape.” 

“ Thank you, Zeb,” I replied. “ When shall we 
attempt the escape?” 

“ This very minute,” he said. “ We’ve got to hurry, 
leftenant, if you want to be in at the great battle.” 

“A great battle!” I exclaimed. “We’re hardly 
ready for that yet, are we? ” 

“ It may come any day,” he replied. Then he ex- 
plained to me hurriedly, but in more detail than I had 
been able to obtain from Father Michel and the others, 
that we had a strong fleet and army before Quebec 
and a real commander at last. 

“ We’re goin’ to give the Frenchman his beatin’,” 
said Zeb in sanguine tones. 

“ Zeb,” I said, “ we must escape from this house 
immediately.” 

“ That’s what I’ve been tellin’ you,” said Zeb. 
“ Come on.” 

Zeb’s enthusiasm had added to my desire of escape. 

“ Your window up there ain’t a fine one or a big 
one,” said Zeb, “ but it’ll do. If you look close you’ll 
see a rope hangin’ down. I’ll help you up it, an’ then 
I’ll come up it myself. I can do it easy.” 

“ You are risking a lot for me, Zeb,” I said. 

Zeb’s only reply was to thrust a pistol into my 
hand, saying: 

“ Take this, leftenant, in case we have trouble. 
I’ve got another, and, besides, my rifle is layin’ on 
the roof out there, along with some clothes that’s 
waitin’ for you. Tarnation, what made that noise?” 

The door of my room swung open, and Pierre, 
holding a small lantern in one hand and a cocked 
pistol in the other, entered. 


OUT OF THE CHATEAU. 


227 


“ Who in thunder have we here?” asked Zeb. 

He spoke in English, but Pierre must have guessed 
the nature of his inquiry, for he responded in his own 
language : 

“ I look after monsieur here, who is our prisoner, 
and I have come in time to prevent his escape. Give 
me your weapons or I fire.” 

“ Does he understand our language?” asked Zeb. 

“ No.” 

“ Then the minute I grab him you shut the door, 
but don’t make any noise.” 

Then with a jump which was more like the leap 
of a panther than of a man the boy sprang upon the 
old servant. His action was of such suddenness that 
Pierre could not discharge his pistol. Zeb seized his 
pistol arm with one hand and his throat with the 
other. I flew to the door and closed it. When I re- 
turned Zeb had crowded Pierre against the wall and 
his hand was set like iron in his throat. Pierre was 
gasping and growing black in the face. I felt pity 
for him. 

“Do not kill him, Zeb!” I exclaimed. “He was 
but doing his duty.” 

“ An’ Pm doin’ mine,” said the strange boy. “ But 
don’t be afraid, leftenant; I’m not goin’ to murder 
him. I’m just showin’ him a quick way of goin’ to 
sleep.” 

He released his hold and Pierre slid to the floor, 
where he lay insensible. 

“ He ain’t hurt, but he won’t come to for some 
time,” said Zeb. “ It was a mighty awk’ard time for 
him to be a-comin’ in here, an’ since he come he had 
to stand what happened. It’s a little way of shuttin 
off a man’s breathin’ that I learned from the Iroquois. 
I guess we’d better tumble him in the corner.” 

We dragged him to one side, and then I grasped 

t 


228 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


the rope that hung from the window. Zeb gave me a 
strong push, and in a moment or two I was squeezing 
through the narrow aperture. Zeb ‘followed up the 
rope with the agility of a sailor, and presently both 
of us lay flat on the roof. 

“ Keep close/’ whispered Zeb, “ ’cause the night 
ain’t so powerful dark that some one might not see 
us on the roof, and that would make a pesky lot of 
trouble for us.” 

“What time is it?” I asked. 

“ ’Bout two in the mornin’,” he said, “ an’ there 
ain’t many stirrin’ besides the sentinels. But there’s 
a power of them, an’ they’re watchin’ mighty close 
now that the English are so nigh.” 

A soldier passed presently, his arms jingling, but 
he did not look up and see the two blotches on the 
roof of the Chateau de St. Maur. 

“ We want to get over on the other side,” said 
Zeb. “ That’s the back side, an’ we won’t be seen 
there.” 

We climbed over the comb of the roof to the other 
side, which we found to face some outhouses and other 
little buildings. The eaves reached so near to the 
ground that we dropped down without making any 
noise. We slunk along among the outbuildings, Zeb 
carrying his rifle and the bundle that had lain beside 
it on the roof. 

“ Leftenant, I think you’d better change your 
clothes now an’ turn Frenchman for awhile,” said 
Zeb when we stopped in the shadow of one of the 
buildings. 

Then I noticed for the first time that Zeb’s Own 
attire was that of a Canadian huntsman. 

“ Do you talk their language?” I asked. 

“ Certain,” he replied, as he proceeded to unroll 
the bundle. “ As good as you do, leftenant. I could 


S OUT OF THE CHATEAU. 22g 

fool old Montcalm himself. I haven’t been livin’ along 
the Canadian border so long for nothin’.” 

From the bundle he quickly produced a uniform 
much like his own. I divested myself of my outer 
clothing and put it on. 

Zeb took my discarded garments and cast them 
into one of the outhouses. 

“ There’s a cow in there,” he said. “ I hear her 

I chawin’ the cud. Maybe she’ll take a notion to chaw 
up your old clothes, an’ if she does she’s welcome to 
’em.” 

Which was a curt way of disposing of the sightly 
uniform of which I had once been so proud. 

“Now you don’t forget what we are?” said Zeb. 
“ You have not yet informed me on that point,” I 
said. 

“ Waal, we’re Canadian scouts just come into Que- 
bec, an’ we’re tryin’ to get out ag’in to see what mis- 
chief the enemy are plottin’. Don’t forget, for we may 
be asked troublesome questions.” 

I made up my mind in case we were questioned to 
let Zeb do all the talking. 

We took a look at our weapons to see that they 
were ready for any emergency that might arise, and 
went into the street. Quebec was surrounded by high 
and thick stone walls, and I knew that the only way 
for us to get out was to pass through one of the gates. 
What Zeb’s plan was I could not guess. 

There seemed to be more stir now. Many soldiers 
were about. Occasionally officers galloped by, their 
horses’ feet ringing loud and clear on the hard stones. 
But nobody paid any attention to us for some time, 
as, indeed, there was small cause for them to do, since 
there was a plenty of our apparent kind in the city. 
I was strolling along a bit behind Zeb when some one 
struck me a sound blow on. the back. 



23O A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ What service are you on to-night, comrade? Are 
you going to have a shot at the English?” asked a 
hearty voice. 

Two French regulars — at least they wore the uni- 
form of regulars — had come up behind us and had 
taken this abrupt manner of accosting us. They were 
somewhat in liquor, and wished to be friendly. 

“ No,” said Zeb, who had turned around and who 
spoke a very fair French. “ The English are to rest 
to-night, so far as we are concerned. But in this barrel 
I carry the death warrant of a redcoat, ready for my 
use whenever I choose to serve it.” 

He tapped the barrel of his rifle as he spoke. The 
Frenchmen laughed. 

“You are sharpshooters, I take it?” said one of 
them. 

“ Yes,” replied Zeb. 

“ Were you at Ticonderoga? ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” replied Zeb, “ and I saw the English go 
down there like grass before an autumn fire.” 

“Alas! I was not there,” said the Frenchman, 
“ and it is the regret of my life. Diable, how I wish I 
could have had a part in that great victory! Come 
into this wine cellar, friend, and tell us about it while 
we quench our thirst.” 

A light twinkling in the basement of a stone build- 
ing indicated the wine shop of which he spoke. Zeb 
gave me an expressive glance, and we accompanied the 
soldiers. There was no other customer in the place, 
and mine host, when he had filled our glasses, returned 
to his comfortable doze in the corner. 

I constituted myself the narrator, and began to tell 
about Ticonderoga. As I had been there, I did not 
lack for facts. The whole terrible scene returned, and 
I found myself describing it with a fluency and force 
of which I did not deem myself capable. I must have 


OUT OF THE CHATEAU. 23 1 

drawn a vivid picture, for one of my auditors ex- 
claimed : 

“ Bravo! bravo! If he fought as well as he tells 
of the fight, then he must have been ten times a 
hero ! ” 

“ The story is worthy of more wine,” said the sec- 
ond, and he immediately ordered the landlord to fill 
up the glasses again. Both Frenchmen were now very 
much intoxicated. 

“ We’ll slip away from them presently,” whispered 
Zeb to me. 

“ When do you think the English will attack us?” 
asked one of the Frenchmen. 

“ It will be too soon for them whenever it may be,” 
replied Zeb. 

“ Bravo, comrade! ” replied the Frenchman. “That 
is the spirit of a French soldier! ” 

The door of the wine shop stood open, and at that 
moment another man walked in. I gave a start of 
surprise and alarm when I saw that it was Savaignan. 
I could not mistake his face, and, moreover, there was 
the blue and black spot on it that my fist had made. 
I pushed a little farther back against the wall, hoping 
he would not see me in the semidarkness there. 

He called for some wine and drank it. Then as he 
turned away his eyes alighted upon me, and I saw the 
flash of recognition. 

“ The seigneur’s prisoner! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Men,” he continued, seizing one of the French 
soldiers by the shoulder, “ what are you doing here 
with this man? He is an escaped English prisoner.” 

“ You speak false words,” exclaimed the soldier, 
rousing up, for he had been dropping asleep. “ He 
is a most gallant Frenchman, and he was at Ticon- 
deroga. He has just been telling us a fine story about 
it.” 


232 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. ' 

“ Nonsense! ” exclaimed Savaignan roughly. “ He 
is an English officer, and he must be arrested at once.” 

“ And I tell you,” said the soldier angrily, “ that 
he is a most valorous comrade and a true French- 
man.” 

I saw which way the wind was blowing, and made 
a swift resolution to take advantage of it. “ Com- 
rades,” I said appealingly, “ I saw this officer flinch 
from the enemy’s fire at Ticonderoga. He knows that 
I saw him, and he hates me for it and would persecute 
me. Will you help him do it?” 

Now I recognized that this was a most flimsy tale, 
and that the soldiers in ordinary times would not have 
dared to raise their hands against an officer, even had 
the tale been a better one. But I had not miscalculated 
the effects of their drunkenness. They arose in a high 
state of indignation and announced that I should not 
be touched, that they had known me all their lives, 
that we were born in the same village in France, and 
many other things to similar purpose and effect. 

“You are drunken liars!” said Savaignan scorm 
fully. “ This man is my prisoner, and he shall go with 
me.” 

Zeb hitherto had been sitting in the corner silent. 
At this he sprang to his feet and with an appearance 
of great fury exclaimed: 

“ What, do you call my comrades liars and drunk- 
ards? Dog of an officer, take that! ” 

He struck Savaignan such a smart blow on the 
head with his gun barrel that the Frenchman fell bleed- 
ing like a pig and half unconscious. 

“Run, comrades, run!” exclaimed Zeb, “or we’ll 
all be in the guardhouse soon.” 

This was a fate that the French soldiers courted 
no more than we, for they knew the consequences of 
striking an officer, and they dashed out at the open 


OUT OF THE CHATEAU. 


233 


door, followed by Zeb and me. Luckily there was 
nobody in the street, and when the Frenchmen darted 
around the corner, thinking of nothing but to get 
as far as possible from the wine shop, we turned in 
another direction, and in a minute they were out of 
sight. 

“ ’Twas cleverly done,” said Zeb with a chuckle, 
“ and that French officer will have a pretty sore head 
for nigh on to a week. He ’peared to know you, lef- 
tenant.” 

I explained who Savaignan was. 

“ Had trouble with him over a gal,” said Zeb 
tersely. “ That’s bad. He’ll follow you an’ try to 
find you. Leftenant, we must get out of this city just 
as quick as we can.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THROUGH THE GATE. 

We slunk about the town, watching in shadows 
and hiding in corners, until daylight approached, find- 
ing in the meanwhile no opportunity to escape. Zeb 
said that only the Palace gate was left unbarricaded, 
and at last we decided that we would run the gantlet 
there, as it seemed to be our only chance. I regretted 
deeply our meeting with Savaignan. I knew that he 
would recover quickly from Zeb’s blow, and I feared 
that he would take some measure to prevent our 
escape. 

I felt much apprehension as we approached the 
gate. 

“ It looks like rashness, Zeb,” I said. 

“ It is rashness, leftenant, but we’ve got to try it. 
There ain’t nothin’ else to do,” he replied. 

“ Ticonderoga is the password, you said? ” 

“ Ticonderoga it is, an’ nothin’ else. That’s the 
reason we’ve got to get out now, for the password 
will be changed to-day an’ then we won’t know it.” 

“ All right, go on and I’ll take the chance with 
you.” 

We were near the gate. The sun was rising high 
in the heavens, flooding the city, its stone walls, and 
red roofs with sunshine. Soldiers were passing out 
at the gate. With some such crowd as this we hoped 
to pass out too. 


234 


THROUGH THE GATE. 235 

As we drew near we heard the steady beat of a 
drum. 

“ Fortune is with us,” I exclaimed. “ Look, a 
company is passing out now.” 

“ So ’tis,” replied Zeb.' “ It’s our chance, leften- 
ant. See the skirmishers hangin’ long behind there! 
We must drop in with ’em.” 

It was easy enough to follow this suggestion, and 
in a few moments we were slouching along as if we 
belonged to the company. Some of the skirmishers 
had already gone through, and my heart was beating 
high at the prospect of the easy success of our plan 
when the officer in command at the gate told us to 
stop. Something in our appearance, the difference in 
the set of our costumes perhaps, aroused his sus- 
picions. 

Zeb and I stopped, for we knew that only by ready 
compliance could we allay his doubts. 

“Do you belong to this company?” he asked 
sharply. 

“We are attached to it as sharpshooters,” I re- 
plied. 

“ You do not look like Frenchmen,” he replied. 
“ Savaignan ! Savaignan ! Come here ! ” he called the 
next moment. 

I started violently when he called the name Savai- 
gnan, and then looked at Zeb. He made no move- 
ment, although he now knew what the name Savaignan 
meant, and I imitated his self-command. 

Captain Savaignan approached, and, of course, 
recognized me instantly. The fellow knew that only 
the Palace gate was now used, and he must have 
come there for the express purpose of cutting us 
off. 

“Captain,” said the officer, “here are two men 
who say they are skirmishers attached to the com- 
16 


236 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

pany that is passing out ; they do not appear to 
me to be Frenchmen. Will you take a look at 
them? ” 

Savaignan could not restrain his exultation. 

“ They lie when they say they are Frenchmen,” he 
replied. “ This man is Lieutenant Edward Charteris, 
an American officer who has been a prisoner at the 
Chateau de St. Maur, and has escaped. The other is a 
spy, who should be shot immediately.” 

“Ah!” said the officer. “This is important.” 

I saw that* we must brazen it out in some manner. 

“ Monsieur is mistaken,” I said politely. “ I never 
saw him before, and I do not think that he ever saw 
me. My name is Jean Duval, and my comrade here 
is Raoul Chapin.” 

I spoke with great earnestness. It is not always 
necessary to tell the truth to appear earnest. The 
officer seemed to be impressed. 

“ Do you think you could be mistaken, Savai- 
gnan?” he asked doubtfully. 

“ Mistaken, sacre! I know the man as well as I do 
you, and I have been waiting for him here,” replied 
Savaignan. 

“ Monsieur is deceived by some facial resemblance,” 
I replied lightly. “ I hope, sir, you will permit us to 
join our company at once.” 

“ These men should be arrested immediately,” said 
Savaignan fiercely. 

This remark seemed to anger the officer. I sup- 
pose he resented Savaignan’s heat as an unjust inter- 
ference with his own affair. Besides, he looked like a 
sympathetic fellow who would not care to have any- 
body hanged or shot. 

“ Do you know any one who can vouch for you?” 
he asked me. 

“ None except the Seigneur of Chateau de St. 


THROUGH THE GATE. 237 

Maur,” I answered boldly. “ Raoul and I have lived 
upon his estate in this province.” 

It was a comprehensive lie, and I felt some fear 
about it the moment it was out. 

“ Then, if you know the seigneur so well,” said 
the officer, “ doubtless you know his daughter, the 
beautiful Mile. Louise?” 

“ Oh, yes,” I said glibly. “ I have seen her scores 
of times.” 

“ That is fortunate,” he said, “ for then we shall 
settle this matter instantly. It so happens that Mile, 
de St. Maur herself has come to the gate this morning 
to see the soldiers pass out. — Felix, ask mademoiselle 
to have the goodness to come here.” 

A soldier stepped aside and returned in a moment 
with Mile, de St. Maur and her pert little maid 
j Marie. 

“ Mile, de St. Maur,” said the officer, bowing low, 

! “ here are two men, one of whom Captain Savaignan 
I says is a spy and the other an American officer, Lieu- 
| tenant Charteris, a prisoner who has escaped from 
1 your father’s house. The latter, on the contrary, says 
that they are French soldiers, and have been retainers 
of your father’s. Will you kindly decide this question 
for us? ” 

A deadly pallor overspread the face of Louise, and 
she trembled. I was about to step forward, declare 
myself, and release her from such a position when up 
spoke the good little Marie, bless her soul! 

“Know them!” she exclaimed. “I should think 
mademoiselle would know them! And two lazy 
scamps they are! — Jean, you rascal, and you, too, 
Raoul, what are you doing here? Why are you not 
out there fighting the English like brave Frenchmen? 
The seigneur will use a stick on you both when he 
hears that you have been skulking here in the City. 


238 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

Give me your gun, Jean, and I’ll go fight if you’re 
afraid!” 

She delivered these words with all the heat and 
fury of a little spitfire; she pulled one of Zeb’s long 
tow locks smartly, and the officer laughed loudly. He 
had not noticed Louise’s paleness. 

“ Savaignan,” said he, turning triumphantly to the 
captain, “ there is a medical man in the city much 
skilled in the treatment of the eyesight. I would ad- 
vise you to hold consultation with him as soon as the 
opportunity may permit. — Pass on, men ! ” 

We obeyed the command, and a half minute later 
were outside of the walls of Quebec. 

“ Zeb,” I said, when we had gone a short distance, 
“ we probably owe our lives to that little French 
maid.” 

“ A woman is curious,” said Zeb; “ a city or a cam- 
paign is less to her than the luck of somebody she 
likes.” 

We took a wide circuit, intending to reach the 
camp of Wolfe, which Zeb said was beyond the Mont- 
morency. 

We had followed along in the trail of the company 
to which we claimed to belong until we were a fair 
measure of space from the walls. Then we began to 
edge away. This we had no great difficulty in doing, 
and we continued the process with such success that 
soon we found ourselves beyond the sight of the 
French and on our way to our own army. We walked 
swiftly for some time and without interruption. Then 
Zeb began to grow suspicious, and he stopped at in- 
tervals to listen. 

“ Leftenant, I think some one is followin’ us,” said 
he at last. 

“ We’ve left them all behind long ago.” 

“ So I was beginnin’ to think myself, but I’ve 


THROUGH THE GATE. 


239 


changed my mind about it. There’s somebody hangin’ 
along on our tracks sure’s we’re both livin’ sinners.” 

I could hear no suspicious sound, but the lad’s ears 
being more acute than mine, I thought he must be 
right. But we did not like to stop. So we went on 
a little farther, and Zeb again said we were followed. 

“ If you’ll wait here a minute, leftenant,” he said, 
“ I’ll go back an’ see what it is. Don’t stir while I’m 
gone unless you have to.” 

He returned in five minutes, a very large degree 
of disgust expressed upon his face. 

“ Whatever it was,” he said, “ it’s been too smart 
for me, for it’s cleared out.” 

“ Some wandering Canadian peasant,” I said, and 
we resumed our flight. 

Zeb calculated that we would reach the army in 
about four more hours. We were compelled to make 
our route circuitous in order to avoid the French and 
Indian skirmishers and scouts. I asked many ques- 
tions of Zeb about the army, and it made me exceeding 
glad to hear that the men were in fine spirits and put 
great confidence in their general. 

We came presently to a little clump of trees and 
sat down to rest a bit, for we had been on our feet 
many hours, and were growing tired. I leaned back 
against the tree, and before I had been there a half 
minute a rifle cracked in some adjacent bushes and 
a bullet buried itself in the tree very near to my 
head. 

“ Get behind a tree! ” shouted Zeb, and in a minute 
both of us were burrowing behind trees like Indians. 

“ It’s the fellow that’s been followin’ us, whoever 
he is,” said Zeb, whose tree was very near to my own. 
“ I was a fool not to hunt longer for him. Now he’s 
got us treed, an’ may keep us here until a lot of the 
French come along an’ take us.” 


240 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“You think it is only one man?” I asked. 

“ Certain,” replied Zeb. “ When I heard the noise 
afore, it sounded like one man walkin’ along, an’, be- 
sides, it was only one that fired, and if there had been 
more’n one they’d all shot in a lump.” 

“ If it is only one,” I said, “ why can’t we stalk 
him? The trees are pretty thick here. You curve to 
the left, I’ll curve to the right, and we’ll come down on 
him on both sides.” 

“ Good ’nuff,” said Zeb. “ You’ve got your pistol. 
You could have my rifle, but I guess it would be in 
your way. Don’t make any more noise than you can 
help.” 

We instantly began the execution of our plan. I 
crept along the ground and made fair speed. I had 
fixed in my mind the point whence the rifle shot came, 
and hoped to surprise our enemy. It is not a pleasant 
thing to creep thus upon a foe who may turn and rend 
you, but its necessity was obvious. This skulking 
pursuer might continue to follow us and shoot us both 
down. His pursuit must be stopped. 

Thus thinking, I made my way through the under- 
growth, and when I came to a little knoll and looked 
down the other side of it I saw a man squatted in the 
grass behind a tree. He had just finished loading his 
rifle, and peeped from behind the tree as if looking for 
a target. I had no doubt that I was the target for 
which he was looking, for the man was old and gray, 
and none other than Pierre. I guessed it at once. In 
some manner he had contrived to follow us, and he 
intended either to take me back to Quebec or stop 
my further flight with a bullet from the ancient French 
weapon which he carried. I could have shot Pierre 
with perfect ease from where I sat, and perhaps I 
would have been justified in doing so, but I had no 
stomach for such an act. Instead I lay still and 


THROUGH THE GATE. 


241 


watched him for a little while. The old fellow squirmed 
about at a great rate, peeping first from one side of 
the tree and then the other, thrusting out the muzzle 
of his gun and then drawing it back. By and by a 
look of perplexity began to overshadow his face. I 
knew he was wondering what had become of us, and 
I could have laughed at his mystification. Presently 
I looked across and saw Zeb lying behind a tree on 
the other side of him. He had just raised his rifle and 
was drawing a bead on old Pierre when I shook my 
head at him violently. Fortunately he saw me, and, 
lowering his rifle, circled around and joined me. 

“ It’s the old fellow I choked in your room last 
night, ain’t it? ” he asked. 

I nodded. 

“ An’ I guess he’s been followin’ us all the time 
to bring you back.” 

I nodded again. 

“ Waal, he may mean well ’nuff,” said Zeb, “ but 
he ain’t much on the scout. He thinks he’s cornered 
us, an’ we’ve cornered him.” 

“ Let’s see what he’ll do,” I suggested. 

“ All right,” replied Zeb. “ I don’t mind a little 
fun myself.” 

The old fellow began to grow very impatient. He 
would put his ear to the earth and listen with great 
interest. Then he would crawl forward for a better 
view. At last he stretched his rifle by his side, holding 
it with one hand, and began to crawl toward another 
tree about fifteen feet farther on. 

“ Suppose we stop him now? ” I said to Zeb. 

He assented, and we began to stalk Pierre. We 
did it so successfully that we came close up to him 
and could have reached out and touched his foot, yet 
he never heard us. Zeb put his rifle down on the 
ground, rose up on all fours, and, suddenly springing 


242 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


through the air like a cat, came down upon the back 
of Pierre. 

The Frenchman uttered a cry and flattened out on 
his face. Zeb hopped off his back, took the rifle from 
Pierre’s nerveless hand, and stood up. I, too, rose 
to my feet. Pierre gasped like a dying deer, and pres- 
ently, when his breath began to return to him, sat 
up and began to look at us with surprised eyes. 

“ Were you looking for me, Pierre, my good 
man?” I asked. 

“ I was looking for monsieur,” he replied. 

“ An’ you have found him,” added Zeb. 

“ Pierre,” I said in an aggrieved tone, “ why do 
you pursue me thus? The bullet that you fired at me 
just now missed me scarce an inch.” 

“ The seigneur’s commands were that I should 
watch you,” replied Pierre, “ and I obey the sei- 
gneur.” 

“ Then you have certainly obeyed him,” I said. 
“You have performed your full duty; now go back 
to him and leave us alone.” 

“ But my orders were not to let you escape,” said 
Pierre obstinately. 

“ But how are you going to prevent it, my good 
Pierre?” I asked. 

He seemed puzzled, and then repeated like a ma- 
chine : 

“ But my orders from the seigneur were not to 
let you escape.” 

“ He ought to be a good soldier,” commented Zeb 
with a grin. “ He’s so powerful partickler about 
orders.” 

“ Pierre,” I said, “ you’ve done all you could. 
You’ve followed me a long distance. You shot at me, 
and it is the fault of your aim and not of your intent 
that I am not dead. Now return to the seigneur and 


THROUGH THE GATE. 


243 


tell him that you overtook me but could not bring 
me back.” 

“ An’ tell the pretty gal, his daughter, that Leften- 
ant Charteris, of the Royal Americans, is well an’ 
a-doin’ well,” put in Zeb. 

“Be silent, Zeb!” I cried, though I was not dis- 
pleased. 

“ But what proof can I give the seigneur that I 
speak the truth?” asked Pierre plaintively. 

“ Here, take my hat, Pierre,” I replied, “ and I will 
take yours. You can show that as evidence of the 
truth of what you say and that you really found me.” 

He thought a moment and then said: 

“ I will do it, but monsieur will lose by the ex- 
change; my hat is but a poor one.” 

“ You object to beatin’ him in a hat swap,” said 
Zeb, “ but you tried mighty hard awhile ago to put 
a bullet through his head.” 

“ That is different,” said Pierre simply. 

Then he put my hat on his head, handed me his 
own, turned and went back toward Quebec. 

“ He’s done the best he knowed how,” said Zeb as 
we resumed our flight. 

Feeling comparatively safe now, I took the time to 
ask Zeb how he had managed to come to the seigneur’s 
house at such an opportune moment for me. 

“ I slipped into Quebec yesterday mornin’, spyin’ 
for the general,” he said, “ an’ heard a Canadian say 
an American officer was a prisoner in the seigneur’s 
house. I thought from his description that it might 
be you, and concluded to see. I took the chance, and 
found it was you. I stole that dingy old uniform 
you’re wearin’.” 

“ I thank you for taking the chance, Zeb,” I said. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


UNDER THE RIGHT FLAG AGAIN. 

The sun came out and the day grew very warm. 
Our tramp was long, and I became weary in the flesh, 
but not in the spirit. I was exultant over my escape, 
which seemed to me little short of the miraculous, and 
certainly would have been impossible without the aid 
of Zeb. The changing fortunes of the war also were 
sufficient to encourage a man who loved his country. 

“Tell me about Wolfe, Zeb,” I asked. 

“ He isn’t very fine to look at,” said Zeb. “ I guess 
they didn’t have an uglier man in England, but he’s 
worth all the other generals they’ve sent over put to- 
gether. But he’s got his work cut out for him; there’s 
no doubt about that.” 

I looked back at the spires rising above the mighty 
fortress they called Quebec, and I knew that Zeb 
spoke the truth. I had been there, and I had every 
right to know. 

Zeb told me that my own regiment of the Royal 
Americans was with Wolfe, and the knowledge that 
I would soon grip the hands of my old comrades again 
added to my rejoicings. 

The day grew hotter as the sun swung overhead. 
Far away toward the St. Lawrence the deep, heavy 
boom of the great guns echoed through the sultry 
air. 

“ I guess that comes from Point Levis,” said Zeb. 

244 


UNDER THE RIGHT FLAG AGAIN. 245 

The general took it an’ planted there the batteries 
that are shellin’ an’ poundin’ the city.” 

I trusted that neither shot nor shell, however well 
aimed at Quebec, would strike the Chateau de St. 
Maur. As we tramped on the roar of the guns in- 
creased. 

“ I guess the ships are helpin’ the batteries,” said 
■ Zeb. “ Let ’em fight; it’s enough for you and me to 
do just now, leftenant, to keep out of the way of the 
Indians and the French skirmishers.” 

But we were lucky enough to escape all such indi- 
viduals. We crossed the Montmorency without trou- 
ble and entered the camp of Wolfe, where I found my 
: own regiment, and was welcomed as one from the 
dead. There, too, I found Culverhouse and Graham 
and nearly all my old friends and acquaintances. 

“ Where is Spencer? ” I asked of Culverhouse, after 
I had told my story. 

“ Over at Point Levis with the batteries,” he re- 
plied, “ and I might as well tell you, Charteris, that 
if he comes out of the campaign all right he will be- 
come your relative.” 

I guessed his meaning, but I asked for explana- 
tions. 

“ Spencer came suddenly into his title,” he said, 
“ and he at once pushed his fortunes with the pretty 
Miss Arthur. He was successful, too, and they are to 
be married as soon as the campaign closes. It seems 
to be a fitting match, and the old merchant, her father, 
is hugely delighted.” 

“ I shall offer my heartiest congratulations when 
I see him,” I said. 

“ But our good Mr. Arthur used to give you some 
evil looks,” said Culverhouse. “ He seemed to think 
that you wished to be Spencer’s rival.” 

I laughed. 


246 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ Marion was my playmate and almost my sister,” 
I said. “ Spencer will be my brother-in-law, so to 
speak. I was never his rival.” 

“ I thought so,” said Culverhouse. “ There’s some- 
body else in Quebec, eh? ” 

“ Yes,” I replied, “ Marion is a very fine girl, but 
I think I know a finer.” 

“ Mile. Louise de St. Maur? ” said Culverhouse, 
bent upon pushing me to a declaration. 

“Yes,” I replied; “what have you to say?” 

“ Nothing,” said he, “ but to commend your taste.” 

Which made my heart warm toward Culverhouse. 

But I had not much time for such talk, as I was 
soon summoned to the presence of General Wolfe, 
whom all men now call great, but who some then 
thought was mad. It was with deep curiosity that I 
came into his presence. My enthusiasm had caught 
fire from Zeb’s own, and, despite Zeb’s assertion that 
he was ugly, I expected to behold one whose manner 
and presence bespoke the hero. Never was anybody 
more disappointed at first glance than I. I stood be- 
fore a man who looked like some bedridden invalid 
more than a soldier. Thin, awkward, with sparse, red 
hair, weak mouth, and retreating chin, face seemed to 
combine with wasted form to point out the last man 
who should have been chosen commander of the army 
besieging Quebec. Only the bright, alert eye said No 
to their lies, and I in talk soon learned what others 
knew already — that England had sent over a real gen- 
eral at last. 

I soon told him all that I knew about Quebec, 
the nature of my imprisonment there, and the manner 
of my escape. But of real information, such as would 
serve a besieging army, I had little to give. He asked 
me several questions about the Seigneur de St. Maur. 

“I have heard of him,” he said; “he has served 


UNDER THE RIGHT FLAG AGAIN. . 247 

in the great wars of Europe, and he was one of Mont- 
calm’s lieutenants at Ticonderoga. We will have to 
reckon with him here.” 

I was silent, but I was of his opinion that we would 
have to reckon with the Seigneur de St. Maur. 

“You wish to rejoin your regiment, do you not, 
and serve in the siege?” asked the general. 

I replied that I had not thought of anything else. 
He seemed pleased at my reply, and sent me back to 
my regiment. 

As I left the tent a portly form approached me, 
and behold I was staring into the twinkling eyes of the 
good Mynheer Martin Groot. 

“ What, mynheer,” I exclaimed, “ you here, where 
many a good blow is likely to be exchanged?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

" The blows will not fall on me,” he said. “ I have 
taken care of myself for five-and-fifty years much bet- 
ter than any one else would have taken care of me, 
and I shall not forget how, even under the walls of 
Quebec. Lieutenant Charteris, quit this trade of fight- 
ing, that brings you blows, and join me in mine, that 
will bring you gold. Which would you have, the blows 
or the gold?” 

“ Thank you, Mynheer Martin, for the compliment 
and your kindness,” I replied, “ but for the present I 
will take my chance of the blows.” 

“ The way of a young fool,” he replied. “ You 
have been in a French prison already, and you have 
probably got out just in time to have your head 
smashed by a French bullet.” 

“ Even as it is, mynheer,” I replied, “ I would not 
have missed that French prison.” I was thinking of 
Louise. 

He looked puzzled, as he had a right to look, for 
how could he have understood my meaning? 


248 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ Doubtless it was better than the bullet will be,” 
he said. 

I waved my hand to him and left him. 

The next day a detachment of our company was 
sent over to Point Levis to assist with the batteries. 
We crossed on one of the sloops, and from the middle 
of the river I beheld the great and thrilling panorama 
of the siege and defense of Quebec. It was a day of 
dazzling sunlight. Over there between Quebec and 
the Montmorency stretched the long lines of Mont- 
calm, a foe whom no man could afford to despise. 
With him were the victors of William Henry and 
Ticonderoga, veterans of France, sturdy Canadian 
backwoodsmen, and the Indian warriors, more to be 
dreaded in forest fight than either. Beyond Montcalm 
was Wolfe, a dying general, who wished to win this 
great cast before he fell, and with him were the best 
troops of Britain and our own enduring Americans. 
Now that we have quarreled mortally and finally, the 
English when they tell of the taking of Quebec say 
nothing of us, but we were there, and we did our duty 
as hardily and as well as they. Canada is English 
to-day, but it is due as much to the valor of the Thir-' 
teen Colonies as to that of England. But enough of 
that. I have made my little boast, which is true. 

The bombardment was proceeding in a fitful way. 
From Point Levis an occasional shot was sent on its 
mission. The ships joined now and then in the fire. 
The great river took up the echo of the guns and sent 
it far up and down the stream. Quebec, on its mighty 
fortress of rock, seemed to defy any and all enemies. 
In the brilliant sunshine, which made them as dis- 
tinct and as clear as if they were within reach of my 
hand, I could see the spires of the cathedral and the 
Ursulines and others I did not know. Between the 
stone houses showed strips of green that were trees, 


UNDER THE RIGHT FLAG AGAIN. 249 

and beyond rose Cape Diamond tipped with fort and 
cannon. But everywhere in Quebec and around Que- 
bec were batteries. Whichever way we looked we 
looked into the mouths of cannon. 

Just over there beyond that red roof was the Cha- 
teau de St. Maur. I shuddered to think of my dear 
:i girl — for such I called her now — exposed to the shot 
>\ and shell of the fleet and the batteries. Some in the 
, city had been hit, and she was as likely as any other 
to become a victim. 

We landed presently on the island, and I soon met 
: Spencer. I gave him a hearty handshake, but he 
looked at me a little sheepishly. I knew what was 
passing in his mind, and I was quick to disabuse 
him. 

“ Spencer,” said I, “ I have heard already that you 
i are to be my kinsman. I congratulate you most sin- 
1 cerely. There is not a finer girl in all the colonies.” 

Observe that I said “ colonies.” I made no men- 
tion of Canada. 

My manner was such that he could have no doubt 
about me, and he seemed relieved. 

“ Spencer,” I said, “ let’s forget all about that duel 
and be good friends.” 

“ I’m willing if you are,” he said. 

“Then shake,” said I. 

We gave each other a hearty grip again. More- 
over, we kept our word and remained the best of 
friends. * 

I may add right here that Spencer came out of 
the campaign without a scratch, and at this very day is 
a most popular country gentleman in England, the 
model husband of a handsome wife, my third cousin, 
Marion Arthur that was. 

I had but little to do on the Point, and I spent my 
time in looking and asking questions and in putting 


250 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


together what I saw and heard. I concluded that I 
was not willing to exchange my own place of lieuten- 
ant for that of General Wolfe. I believed that I could 
do what I would be told to do, but whether General 
Wolfe could take Quebec was another matter. 

The long warm day dragged on. The smoke from 
the great guns rose in white clouds and drifted with 
the idle winds. The ships spread their sails now and 
then and moved to new points of vantage, but Quebec 
on her rock looked to me grim, defiant, and unassail-^ 
able. 

The river was a vast sheet of murmuring water, 
silver and green here in the shade of the rocks, gold 
and blue out there where the sunshine fell or the 
clouds were reflected. In the bright light the colors 
of Quebec’s mighty mass of stone shifted and changed. 
Now there were creamy seams in the rugged rock, 
which soon turned to brown or gray, and the walls 
themselves, catching the light of the sun from new 
directions, changed their tints. The slender spires 
seemed to float in the soft sunshine. 

The batteries of the French replied now and then 
to our own. A frigate sailed up toward the city and 
dropped into it a broadside from her twenty-four- 
pounders. An answering flash and roar came from 
the rock, and I saw a spar on the ship fall. A moment 
later a group of men gathered on her deck, as if some- 
body had been hit and they were taking him away. 
The rock seemed to have the better of it, but the ship 
was true grit. She swung a little closer and sent an- 
other broadside into Quebec. A shower of balls was 
hurled at her, some hitting her, and then she drew off 
as if she had merely gone out to give a challenge. 

“ That sort of thing has been going on for days,” 
said Spencer, “ and it looks to me like a waste of good 
powder and ball. We don’t make any progress, and 


UNDER THE RIGHT FLAG AGAIN. 25 1 

the general is fretting away what little life disease has 
left him.” 

The next day I returned to the main camp, and 
was assigned to guard duty on our side of the Mont- 
morency gorge. I soon discovered that this was no 
1 mean service, but required all the vigilance and alert- 
; ness of which a man was capable, mingled with no 
j small modicum of courage and presence of mind. 

Between us and the French and their red allies was 
the vast gorge of the river. We beheld mighty preci- 
pices, their summits covered with green and brown 
streaked forests, the stunted birch and fir clinging for 
life to their steep sides. Below boiled the Mont- 
morency after its mighty plunge, sending up a column 
i of foam and mist and spray, now white, now pale, its 
rainbow arching over it. 

It was but a fair rifle shot across the gulf, and I 
: paid good heed to Zeb Crane’s caution not to ap- 
proach too close or to show too much of myself. 

“ The French an’ Indians are good sharpshooters,” 
he said. “ They had enough practice at Duquesne an’ 
Ticonderoga to make ’em good.” 

We clung to the shelter of the trees. Now and 
then a bullet would snip up a bit of grass and warn us 
not to put our trust in the beauty of the weather. The 
river roared in our ears, but we paid small attention 
to its roaring. Instead we watched the green and 
brown woods and thickets on the other shore. Since 
the memorable experience of Culverhouse, Zeb Crane, 
and myself with the Hurons — memorable to me, at 
least — I thought I knew something about wilderness 
sharpshooting, and I compressed all my knowledge 
into this : Lie close to the earth and keep a thick tree 
between you and the enemy. 

This maxim I practiced with assiduity and zeal. 

I caught a glimpse now and then of a Frenchman 


252 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


in green or a red warrior leaping from one tree to 
another, but they were always too quick for me, and I 
could never get a shot. Once Zeb, who had crept up to 
a tree next to mine, fired, but he shook his head doubt- 
fully, and said he feared that his bullet had gone wrong. 
Most of our men were New England rangers, accus- 
tomed to bush fighting, and they seemed to enjoy this 
business. One stole through the grass quite close to 
the brink, but he paid the price of his folly. There 
was a dab of flame in the opposite woods, the sharp 
report of a rifle, and presently our ranger crawled 
painfully back to us, trailing a broken leg behind him. 

Above the spiteful little spat of our rifles we heard 
the deep but distant boom of the big guns, reminding 
us that we were playing but a minor key in the great 
war song, though a half-ounce bullet can kill one quite 
as dead as a twenty-four-pound cannon ball. 

The warm afternoon waned. The sunshine with a 
last burst of splendor to mark the setting of the sun 
turned to the gray of coming night. The woods on 
the opposite shore became an indistinct mass, and the 
sharpshooters on either side were compelled to fire at 
random if they fired at all. I went off duty then to 
sleep and resume guard at midnight. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A COMPROMISE. 




“Wake up! wake up!” said Captain Stearns, the 
I chief of our detachment, as he gave me a sound shake. 
“ Here’s a chance for active service.” 

Fifty in number, we moved farther up the river 
to watch for the French skirmishers, who had been 
active for days in an effort to annoy us beyond en- 
durance and break up our camp. I determined to 
keep a good watch, so far as my part was concerned, 
since I had no mind to leave my body in the forest 
! fallen in some petty skirmish. I wished for Zeb, who 
was an adept at such business, but they told me he 
had gone on a long scout behind the French army. 

We took position in a bit of woods close to the 
river. The place seemed favorable. We had the river 
on one side of us and some open ground on the other. 
Here we began our long and tedious watch. I hate 
: the hours between midnight and day, and I am never 
! awake then if I can help it. But this time I could not 
help it, and I paced up and down the woods, listening 
and looking, but hearing nothing and seeing nothing 
of moment. 

The fitful bombardment had ceased for the night. 
Toward Montcalm’s camp and the city all was quiet, 
and our own army, too, seemed to be sleeping. I could 
only hear the plash of the river and the rustling of the 
leaves as the wind blew through them. These gentle 
noises were soothing, and they encouraged sleep. I 
253 


254 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


had just awakened from one sound nap before coming 
on guard, but I longed for another. It was hard to 
fight off sleep, and I kept stirring that I might not be 
overcome. 

“ I think we’ve been sent too far up,” said Cap- 
tain Stearns in a discontented tone as we stood to- 
gether near the edge of the wood. “ It’s no use to 
extend the lines so far.” 

I did not presume to dispute the words of my supe- 
rior, but, having had some experience in bush war- 
fare, I thought him wrong. We walked up and down 
together, noting the men, who seemed wakeful and 
alert. We approached the bank of the river, which 
at this point was not more than pistol shot across. 
The opposite shore was densely wooded with fir and 
birch, and formed an admirable covert from which 
the French could have picked us off had there been 
light enough to disclose our forms. Studying it in- 
tently, I could not see the slightest movement there, 
and I walked back to Captain Stearns, who had re- 
turned already to the other edge of the wood. 

We whiled away the time in low talk or in rounds 
of inspection. The night had grown very dark, and 
at last I went back to the river again, though alone. 
The trees on the other side were scarce visible. The 
water itself had turned a dark lead. In the silence 
and the darkness its steady plash had a louder sound. 
I listened to it a little while, and then I could have 
sworn that I heard another plash up the stream. 
Though not suspicious in itself, it was a new sound, 
and it attracted my attention. I approached the brink 
as closely as I dared and listened. I heard the strange 
plash again and then again. I was confident that it 
was made by oars, and, looking up the stream, I 
seemed to see a dark shadow crossing its current. It 
was followed quickly by another. 


A COMPROMISE. 


255 


I rushed in all haste to Captain Stearns and told 
him what I had seen and heard. He gathered our 
force together hastily and was not a minute too soon, 
for the forms of men seemed to rise from the grass 
and a numerous body of the French charged directly 
upon us, firing their muskets and rifles and shouting 
like savages, the latter to confuse and frighten us. It 
was, in truth, a most terrifying moment, the dark- 
ness, the half surprise, the shots, and the yelling numb- 
ing our senses for the moment. 

But it was only for the moment. The captain had 
received a bullet in his left shoulder, but he was a 
brave man and not without presence of mind. He 
shouted to his men to spring behind the trees, and I 
added my shouts to his. 

We sheltered ourselves and poured a volley into 
the advancing French, which reduced their number 
and caused the others to hesitate. But they recovered 
presently, and attempted to rush us again. This hesi- 
tation was their undoing, for some of our fastest men 
had reloaded their rifles and gave them a second vol- 
ley, which turned their faces in the other direction. 
Evidently they had expected to surprise us, and were 
not prepared for such ready and effective resistance. 

We were carried away by our success, and our men 
in their enthusiasm shouted to charge the retreating 
French. All of us took it up, and after them we went 
pellmell. They sent back at us many shots, a few of 
which hit, while most did not, but we continued our 
pursuit, making a good deal of noise and encouraging 
each other to run faster. 

I singled out one man who was borne away in the 
press of the fleeing Frenchmen, but who seemed to 
run with them most unwillingly, for often he shouted 
to them to stop, and struck one with the flat of a sword. 
I own that I was infected by the excitement of the 


256 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

chase, and I marked this man as my particular game. 
One who did not care to keep out of our way and who 
was not willing to run as fast as other Frenchmen 
ought to be captured. 

Both sides fired in a scattering way, but the num- 
ber of shots diminished as we ran, and the darkness 
and uncertainty of the ground made them ineffective. 
Both sides spread out, but I kept the tall officer in 
view, determined that he should not escape me. The 
ground was very rough, and I tumbled over once on 
my hands and knees, greatly to their damage, but my 
enthusiasm withstood it all. I was up again and in 
hot and zealous pursuit of my man, who was endeav- 
oring to stop two Frenchmen running by his side. 
But the two darted off into the bushes, and I saw them 
no more. When I looked around for my comrades 
they too were gone. They had scattered in every di- 
rection after the scattering Frenchmen, and it was 
easy to lose sight of them in the night. My own par- 
ticular Frenchman and myself held the field, so far as 
we were concerned. 

Finding himself deserted by his comrades, he slack- 
ened his pace. He stepped lightly across a brook, 
still holding his sword in his hand and then looking 
back for the first time since his men had left him, saw 
me in eager pursuit. I will admit, however, that my 
eagerness had diminished somewhat since the pur- 
suing army, so far as my range of sight was con- 
cerned, was reduced to myself. Nevertheless I could 
not in honor turn back. So, holding my cocked pistol 
in my hand, I urged on the pursuit. 

He looked back at me again, and then slowed down 
to a walk. He was a tall and large man, and seemed 
to be very athletic, but I reasoned that a loaded pistol 
is always' better than a sword at the proper distance. 
As he was walking and I was running, I gained very 


A COMPROMISE. 


257 


fast, and I shouted to him to stop, waving my pistol 
in a very significant manner. Obedient to my com- 
mand, he stopped and took a seat very composedly on 
a large bowlder. 

“ You are my prisoner! ” I said, rushing up to him. 

“ ^ might be possible for me to make you mine,” he 
said, “ but I am willing to discuss the matter with you.” 

The voice was familiar, and, looking more clearly, 
I recognized the large, calm features of the Seigneur 
Raymond de St. Maur. 

I was astonished, but not altogether displeased. 

“ I was not expecting to see you,” he said. 

“ Nor I you.” 

“ But I am glad to see you nevertheless.” 

“ And I to see you.” 

“ My night attack has failed,” said the seigneur 
regretfully. 

“ I am sure it is no fault of yours,” I said, feeling in 
1 a measure sorry for him. 

“ I might have made the attack on some other 
party had I known you were there,” he said with all 
a Frenchman’s politeness. 

“ It has turned out very well as it is,” I could not 
refrain from replying. 

“ Do you still regard me as your prisoner? ” he 
asked with a smile. 

His question was somewhat perplexing. If my 
shot missed or wounded but slightly, he could chop 
me into little pieces with his long sword. Besides, I 
had no desire either to wound the father of Louise or 
to take him a prisoner into our camp. 

“I have reconsidered the matter,” I said at last; 
“ I do not claim you.” 

“ That is better,” he said with another smile, “ be- 
cause I was of another opinion, and it would be a pity 
for two such good friends as you and I to disagree.” 


258 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


The risks of the encounter certainly looked large, 
and with those risks I salved my conscience. 

“ We will make a truce for the present,” he said. 

I was willing, and suggested that it would be wise 
for him to recross the Montmorency and rejoin Mont- 
calm at once. He approved of the suggestion, and we 
walked together toward the river. I thought that I 
could protect him from our troopers should we meet 
any, while he could act in a similar capacity for me 
should we meet any of his. 

“ My compliments to Mile. Louise, your daughter,” 
I said as we walked along. 

“ She will be glad to hear that you are safe,” he 
said gravely. 

I did not venture any further upon that subject, 
and presently we heard the plash of the waters of the 
Montmorency. 

“ I think you have come far enough with me,” 
said the seigneur. “ I know how to recross in ease 
and safety, and. in parting I desire to say that I wish 
you the best luck in the world, Lieutenant Char- 
teris.” 

I wished him the same, and, shaking hands with 
mutual good will, we separated. • 

But as he left I put to him another question. 

“ Did Pierre bring you my hat?” I asked. 

“ He did.” 

“ Was the proof that he had done his duty suf- 
ficient?” 

“ It was. Pierre is a faithful fellow and devoted to 
France.” 

Then his figure disappeared from my sight. 

I returned to our original camp, and on my way 
met Captain Stearns, who was delighted with our suc- 
cess despite his wound, which was slight. We had not 
suffered much in the skirmish, and soon got our men 


A COMPROMISE. 259 

together in the grove, where we kept watch until day 
without further incident. 

On the following afternoon, when I was on watch 
| at the same post, we saw some one appear in the woods 
on the opposite bank holding up a small white flag. 
The figure of the man who held the flag seemed at the 
distance rotund and unmilitary, and we wondered what 
! he wanted, but Captain Stearns, whom a little wound 
! could not keep from duty, made a suitable reply to 
the signal, bidding him to come and to state his mes- 
1 sage. He descended the bank and climbed into a small 
canoe that had been hidden in the bushes. Then I 
saw that the messenger was my good and plump 
friend Father Michel. 

The good man did not seem to rush in any mad 
haste upon his errand. He paddled slowly and cast 
many uneasy looks upon the woods that lined our 
; side of the river. His little white flag he had stuck 
in the bow of his boat, where it could not fail to be 
| conspicuous. 

As I spoke French, I suggested to Captain Stearns 
that I descend the chalk cliff and meet the father. He 
1 agreed, and I scrambled down. When Father Michel 
i saw me standing ready to receive him his round, rosy 
> face was illumined with joy. 

“ I am happy to see you, Lieutenant Charteris,” 
I he cried. “ I feared that you would not be here.” 

“ The joy is mine to see you, Father Michel,” I 
said. “ Nothing but an errand of good could bring 
i you here.” 

“ I don’t know whether the seigneur would call it 
' good or not if he heard of it,” he said doubtfully. 

“ But are you sure none of your sharpshooters are 
J aiming at me from the wood up there? It seems, to 
j me I see a gun muzzle. Remember that my profession 
1 is the Church, and not arms.” 


26 o 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


I assured the good man that nobody would shoot 
at him while he was under the protection of the white 
flag, and he paddled to shore. 

“ Mile, de St. Maur has heard of the encounter you 
had with her father,” he said, “ and she sends you this 
note.” 

He handed me a little envelope, which I opened in 
haste and eagerness, reading upon a piece of paper 
this line, “ I am grateful,” and signed “ Louise ” — 
just Louise, not a formal “ Louise de St. Maur.” 

I was tempted to kiss it, but that would have been 
ridiculous in such a place. Moreover, Stearns just then 
came stumbling down the hillside and wanted to know 
what was in the note. He was within his right, and 
I showed it to him. He grinned. 

“ That’s a love letter, Charteris,” he said. 

He gave Father Michel a sly smile, and the priest 
returned it in the same sly fashion. But Stearns was 
a good fellow. 

“ Put it in your pocket, Charteris,” he said, “ and 
we’ll say no more about your treasonable correspond- 
ence with the enemy.” 

I did as I was bid, and he was gentleman enough 
not to allude to the letter again. 

“ I’ll go now,” said Father Michel, “ though I am 
not sure of the seigneur if he should find out what I 
have done.” 

I encouraged him, telling him that the seigneur 
would know nothing about it, and in good spirits he 
climbed back into his canoe, but gave us a parting 
injunction to restrain our sharpshooters. 

We watched him drag himself painfully up the 
farther cliff and disappear among the woods. 

Good Father Michel, you were a brave man and a 
wise one! 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE BATTLE OF MONTMORENCY. 

Though we skirmished somewhere almost daily, 
the siege dragged. The French had more men than 
we, and their positions seemed impregnable. Our 
only advantage was in our ships, some of which had 
run past Quebec with but little damage. The days 
were warm and long, the sunshine dazzling. From 
time to time came the boom of the great guns, and 
the clouds of smoke drifted over and around Quebec, 
but the mighty rock still defied us. Montcalm, pa- 
tient and alert, lay in his strong positions along the 
Beauport shore, and would not come out and fight 
us. Some of the desponding said the winter would 
come and force us to retreat, nothing done. I feared 
that our failure to make progress would add to the 
general’s fever, and it seemed to me to be a hard jest 
of fate that our first real general should be a dying 
man. 

We destroyed some of their fire ships, and re- 
joiced a little over the success. But I was prepared to 
settle back again into dull waiting, when my company 
was ordered to get itself ready for active service. We 
were then at Point Levis, and from the manners of 
the superior officers I judged that the duty was to be 
both important and dangerous. Culverhouse was 
there also. He shook hands with me and his face was 
very grave when he said : 


261 


262 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ I don’t know whether you’ll come back, Char- 
teris, and I’ll tell you good-by in case you don’t. 
You’ll have hot work over there, and my regiment is 
not to go.” 

He pointed in the direction of the camp where 
Montcalm lay behind his breastworks, so snug and 
so patient. Culverhouse knew that some sort of a 
general attack was intended, but that was all he could 
tell me. Our commanding officer himself even told 
me as much, but no more. We made ready for em- 
barkation, as our part of the army could reach the 
enemy by water only. Then we waited. ’ 

Another clear and brilliant day had begun. There 
was the tightening of belts and the shuffling of im- 
patient feet on the sand. I put my hands over my 
eyes to shade them from the glare of the sun on the 
water. I eased my collar and made myself as com- 
fortable as I could, for we might have long to wait. 

But out in the river there was a beginning already. 
A big sixty-four-gun ship and two smaller vessels 
were hovering near the Montmorency redoubt. Pres- 
ently they anchored, and across the river came a flash 
and roar as one of the smaller vessels fired a broadside 
into the French redoubt. The preliminaries were but 
few. The redoubt replied, and all three ships swing- 
ing at their anchors poured in broadside after broad- 
side. Beyond the Montmorency another battery of 
ours — forty great guns it had, they said — opened upon 
the flank of the French works. 

The crash of so many cannon made the most tre- 
mendous noise I had ever heard, and I had been at 
Ticonderoga. Vast clouds of smoke gathered swiftly. 
Sometimes the smoke drifted about the ships and hid 
them. Then, driven by counter currents of wind, it 
floated and hung over the French redoubt and the 
English battery on shore. Through these shifting 


THE BATTLE OF MONTMORENCY. 263 

pillars and columns came the blaze of the great 
guns. 

The cannonading was so steady that the roar of it 
was almost unbroken. Usually an artillery fire rises 
and falls, dropping to nothing sometimes, and then 
bursting out with a crash fit to split your ears. But 
this was a deep, fierce roar that turned your voice to 
a whisper and set everything in yclur head to hum- 
ming. The clouds of smoke by and by drifted down 
the river and hung over Quebec itself. Others floated 
away to the southern shore and went out of sight be- 
yond the horizon. 

I was standing beside Lieutenant Peyton, of our 
Royal Americans. 

“ Is the general trying to batter the French out 
of their dens? ” I asked. 

“ Partly, maybe,” he said, “ but all that firing is 
for another purpose too. It’s to be the mask for our 
real attack. You and I will see it, my boy.” 

The bombardment went on undiminished. I was 
watching for the flash of the guns through the smoke 
when I noticed the sailors bringing the long boats up 
to the beach at our feet. I guessed that we were going 
to attack the French redoubt at Montmorency, and 
so did all the ' soldiers, but the full plan was still a 
secret. About an hour before noon we embarked in 
the boats and pulled out into the river. We thought 
then that the time for action had come at last, and 
the men were passing the word to each other, some in 
solemnity and some in jest, for there are as many 
ways of looking at death as at life. 

The firing kept my attention. Our approach seemed 
to have no effect upon it. The long, unbroken roar 
of the guns continued. * The edge of the smoke reached 
out and surrounded us. The water glistened like sil- 
ver scales as it fell off the oar blades, and the steady 


264 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


murmur of the river as it flowed past our boats made ^ 
a quiet song that all the crash of the cannon could 
not drown. 

My mind instantly went back to Ticonderoga, 
which we had approached in a way as deliberate. But 
our bands were not playing now as then, and we were 
not in doubt lest the French would fail to meet us and 
run away. But our fleet of boats, filled with men who 
knew by deed what war was, made a fine and martial ^ 
spectacle, and the French from the other shore must , 
have admitted it. 

We expected that we would row straight for the 
Montmorency redoubt, and the men were taking last 
looks at the arms and ammunition. Instead we rowed 
toward the Beauport Church, and then began to 
paddle about in the river like a swarm of uncertain 
ducks. 

We wondered what it meant, and we had ample 
opportunity for wonderment, as noon came and we ? 
were still hovering off the shore. Up at the Mont- I 
morency it seemed from the incessant pounding of the 
artillery that they were fighting the battles of all the 
world, but we merely stewed in the boats. The sun 
overhead marked noon, and his vertical rays opened 
all our pores. A smell of hot leather and sweating 
flesh arose. The men swore softly in unison, and the 
officers pretended not to hear. But that was all. 
Around and around we swung like pawns moved by ‘ 
the master hand, uncertain upon what spot to place 
us. It grew so monotonous that despite the roar, the 
smoke, and the anxiety I believe I could have gone to 
sleep in the boat had I tried. 

It was easy to see that our general was seeking to 
mislead the French and conceal his point of attack, 
but that was a hard thing to do, for Montcalm was a 
wily old fox, and I for one thought we ought to set 


THE BATTLE OF MONTMORENCY. 265 

about doing whatever we intended to do. But the 
afternoon dragged on, seemingly without end, and we 
were still there in the boats, with the hot sun blister- 
ing above us and the hot river blistering below us. 

“ Phew! ” said Lieutenant Peyton, wiping the reek- 
ing sweat off his brow with his forefinger, “ if this 
lasts much longer, I shall be burnt to a coal.” 

“ The waiting may last, but not the sunshine,” I 
said, pointing to the southwest, where I saw a little 
black cloud rising like a signal. 

“ That will mean rain,” said Peyton, “ if it keeps 
on growing, but I don’t think it will strike us before 
nightfall, and we can hardly intend to wait until then.” 

There was more of the long waiting. The smell of 
leather and flesh became a little stronger and the curs- 
ing grew a little louder. But the end of it came at 
last. Between five and six of the clock, when the tide 
was out, we rowed swiftly toward the flats of mud left 
uncovered before the French redoubt. That was the 
signal for all the batteries to do their best, and all the 
swearing was lost in the noise now. The sixty-four- 
gun ship and its two smaller comrades opened with 
every gun that would bear. Across the Montmorency 
the batteries thundered, and from distant Point Levis 
came the seconding roar. Nor were the French idle; 
their great guns were as busy as ours. 

Amid the tremendous uproar and turmoil not even 
the steadiest could withstand excitement. My blood 
danced in my veins and pricked me as if there were 
salt in it. We leaped out of the boats, some half mir- 
ing in the mud, and others falling over other soldiers. 
But all picked themselves up again or pulled their 
feet from the mud and pushed forward, shouting and 
cursing. In our eagerness we threw ourselves into 
disorder, but as we came out of the mud we made 
some kind of formation again. 


266 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


We caught glimpses of a heavy red column a mile 
away advancing across the foot of the Montmorency, 
and we sent up a mighty cheer at this distant sight of 
our brethren coming to help us. Some raindrops 
fell upon my face, and were cool to the touch; the skies 
were turning dark, but I thought little of those things, 
though I did not fail to remember them. 

The grenadiers were in front of us. Suddenly they 
raised another tremendous shout, and, not waiting for 
orders, rushed upon the French redoubt. In an in- 
stant we seconded the cry and rushed with them. The 
French defenders of the works fired a volley at us, 
which made some holes in our ranks, but put no check 
upon our speed. Into the redoubt we poured like a 
flood, and the Frenchmen, still firing scattering shots, 
abandoned it and scuttled like hares up the steep 
grassy slopes beyond. 

We uttered cheers of triumph as we seized the 
captured cannon, but our cheers were cut short. From 
the heights above us, and which in one brief instant we 
saw were swarming with the French army, a storm 
of cannon and musket balls were hurled upon us. Far 
to the right and to the left the crest and upper slopes 
burst into a continuous and vivid blaze. 

The groans and shrieks that arose from our ranks 
as we were potted like grouse was awful, but it was 
only for a moment. Then, as if by one impulse, we 
rushed toward the slopes. The leaden storm did not 
slacken. The smoke floated sometimes in our faces, 
but when it was driven away by the flash of the cannon 
and the rifles we could see the French in their white 
uniforms loading and firing, and above the roar we 
could hear them shouting: “Vive le Roi!” “Vive 
Montcalm!” “ Vive notre general!” “ Vive la France! ” 

We reached the slopes and tried to rush up them. 
Cannon balls, musket balls, and buckshot beat us 


THE BATTLE OF MONTMORENCY. 267 

back again. Dead bodies rolled down and tripped us 
up. I remembered groaning and crying out, “ Ticon- 
| deroga over again! Ticonderoga over again! ” though 
I dare say none heard me. 

Suddenly there was a great crash overhead, fol- 
I lowed by a searing blaze. I looked up and saw that 
the thunder was real thunder and the blaze real light- 
i ning. The skies were darkened by clouds as well as 
smoke, and while we fought and screamed on the 
j slopes the clouds burst and torrents of rain fell upon us. 

I believe that few in that moment knew of the 
I storm. There was no decrease in the screaming, the 
I cursing, and the firing. A terrible steam arose, the 
| mingled reek of blood and muddy water. Streams 
j of both flowed down the slopes and splashed our boots 
j| with red or brown. The grass became slippery as ice, 

I and often we shot like cannon balls back down the 
| slope, though untouched by wound or fear. I thought 
I had reached the climax of horrors at Ticonderoga, 
: r but the sight was even more dreadful here. Over our 
I] heads the storm raged and the torrents of rain pelted 
g; us. From the slopes and the cliff tops the French 
(j beat us down with an unceasing shower of lead. Below 
[i we struggled in the bloody mire, climbed a little way 
jl; up the grassy slopes, wet and treacherous, then tum- 
\\ bled back again, a mingled mass of living, hurt, and 
; dead. I think I wept at the fate of men trapped as 
I had seen them trapped before. At any rate, I found 
afterward white streaks down my begrimed face. 

The storm and the battle seemed to compete, but 
the storm won at last. The French say it saved us 
from destruction; we say it saved them by making 
the grassy slopes as smooth as ice and impossible for 
: us to climb. But the torrents of rain began to soak 
through the ammunition of both, and the powder 
would burn and explode no longer. The discharge of 
18 


268 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


artillery and rifles died like a fire that has nothing to 
feed on. The trumpets sounded the recall, and, groan- 
ing and cursing, we dragged ourselves out of the 
sticky mire of mud and blood and water. The French 
had won again, and all the brave men who had fallen 
had fallen for nothing, unless to show that they were 
brave. 

The rain, as if satisfied with its triumph over the 
powder, ceased to fall. The clouds disappeared. The 
last big drops of water glistening on the grass like 
silver dried up. 

We drew off, sullen and still full of fight, though 
knowing how useless it was. The French began to 
shout again for their King, their general, and France, 
and the savages in their employ rushed down the 
slopes after scalps. 

Then I noticed that we had not brought off all the 
wounded; the brave Peyton was hurt, and I saw him 
propped upon his elbow in the mud. A half dozen 
savages were rushing toward him. I believe they pre- 
fer the scalp of a wounded to that of a dead man. 
Peyton had a double-barreled gun in his hands, and 
he fired one barrel and then the other. An Indian 
dropped at each shot. But the poor fellow had no 
more shots, and the remaining Indians came on as 
zealous as ever for scalps. 

I ran back toward Peyton, shouting to my com- 
rades to come also, but a Highland sergeant, a big 
red-haired, bare-legged fellow, was ahead of me. He 
seized Peyton in his powerful arms and took him in 
safety to the boats, carrying him and dragging him a 
full half mile through the mud. Other such incidents 
I witnessed on that day. Even in battle men do not 
forget all human feeling. 

We retired in better order than we had advanced. 
Our ranks were closed up, and we kept the muzzles 


THE BATTLE OF MONTMORENCY. 269 

of our guns toward the enemy. But they knew enough 
to stay in their works and on the hilltops and slopes. 
Only the skirmishers and the savages prowled about 
the battlefield. 

The Indians kept up a frightful yelling, and the 
French, too, on the heights shouted with might and 
main. The column which had come from beyond the 
Montmorency retired toward its old position. The 
bare-legged, striped, and kilted Highlanders, with Gen- 
eral Wolfe himself among them, placed themselves in 
the rear of the retiring body, and suddenly we heard 
a fresh note amid the yelling of the savages ; it was the 
Scotch bagpipe screaming defiance, and I verily be- 
lieve those savages to whom the sound was new 
thought it was the war whoop of the Scotchmen, and 
that at last they had found men who could emit more 
bloodcurdling and unearthly shrieks than themselves. 

The retiring British snatched off their hats, waved 
them defiantly at the French, and dared them to come 
down and fight. But the French merely continued 
to utter their triumphant shouts and stayed where they 
were. If the French had been as prodigal and fool- 
ishly wasteful of their blood as we were of ours, they 
would have been beaten much earlier in that war. 

We by the boats or in them seconded the defiant 
cheer of our comrades, but we were not quite so hearty 
in the utterance of it. Their part of .the fight had 
been but little; it was we who had been torn and 
wounded on the slippery slopes, and, though we kept 
a line of bayonets and muskets between us and the 
skirmishers, and preserved all the appearances of activ- 
ity in the face of the enemy, we crept painfully and 
down-heartedly into the boats. 

It is not cheerful to know that you have left so 
many dead comrades behind you, and that you have so 
many others scarce alive groaning in pain beside 


2)0 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

you. We had been cut up most frightfully, and noth- 
ing gained. For the moment I feared that General 
Wolfe was like all the other generals. Truly the Eng- 
lish owe very little to their generals and much to their 
soldiers. 

The storm had cooled the air, but for a little while 
only. The hot twilight was gathering, and our 
wounded men burned with fever. Many of us took 
off our hats and, lifting water from the river, poured 
it over them. We rowed slowly toward the Point of 
Orleans, leaving the Indians shrieking and yelling on 
the beach. When we had gone some distance a war- 
rior came down on a mud spit as near as he could 
to us and began to whoop and dance about as if mad. 
I noticed something in his hand, and recognized a 
fresh and bloody scalp, which he began to whirl about 
as a taunt to us. I turned away my eyes in repulsion 
and horror. Then I felt something cold and hard 
laid across my shoulder. 

“ Sit still, lieutenant! ” said a man behind me. “ I’m 
just using your shoulder as a rest, and I won’t hurt 
you.” . 

We had taken into our boat a New England ranger, 
a New Hampshire man named Cook, and it was he 
who was speaking. The long, slender blue barrel of 
his rifle rested upon my shoulder and projected half 
a yard beyond my face. I remained perfectly steady 
and with every muscle set. The hammer of the gun 
fell, a jet of fire leaped from the muzzle, and then fol- 
lowed the sharp report of the woodsman’s rifle, which 
has been compared so aptly to the cracking of a whip. 

The warrior fell prone in the mud and moved no 
more. It was the longest shot I had ever seen. Cook 
took his rifle from my shoulder with a satisfied grunt, 
and the men in the boats cheered. 

We resumed our rowing, and in the growing twi- 


THE BATTLE OF MONTMORENCY. 271 

light unloaded our maimed cargoes at the Point of 
Orleans. As at Ticonderoga, I had come out of this 
battle unhurt, and therefore had much reason to be 
thankful, but I passed a gloomy night nevertheless. 
It seemed as if after all our efforts and frightful losses 
the French would continue to beat us and keep us 
out of Quebec. The next morning I found that this 
despondency was shared by all with whom I came in 
contact, and I heard that the general himself was in 
despair, increased by his failure to hear anything defi- 
nite from Amherst, who was to come by the way of 
Ticonderoga and Lake Champlain with an army to our 
relief. 

Then we entered upon a military course which may 
have been necessary, but which seemed very cruel to 
me, and which I yet think of with shame. We began 
to ravage the country with bodies of light infantry, 
Highlanders, and rangers. Some of them, especially 
the Highlanders, who, I understand, make a practice 
of it in their own country even in times of peace, were 
very expert at it. All the cattle were seized, the coun- 
try people were driven from their homes, and if they 
resisted, stables, houses, and villages were burned to 
the ground. Sometimes a church was not spared. It 
was our general’s object by destroying the extremities 
to weaken so far as possible the heart, which was Que- 
bec. It may have been good military policy, but I 
repeat that it seemed very cruel to me. I witnessed 
many pitiful scenes while we were waging this war on 
women and old men and children, but the English and 
Scotch often made a jest of it. Whatever may be our 
faults and whatever we may lack, I have always felt 
that we of America are more humane than the Euro- 
peans, and to my mind that is one of the greatest of 
the virtues. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A RACE FOR A RESCUE. 

Some days after our repulse at Montmorency 
Zeb Crane hunted me up on the Isle of Orleans, 
where I had returned after an up-the-river expedi- 
tion. 

The strange boy had been in Quebec ever since 
the battle. He seemed to pass and repass the gates 
with ease, having found better ways for coming out 
since he and I made the venture together. 

“ The French are making a great noise over their 
victory, leftenant,” said Zeb, “ and pretend to think 
this Quebec business is all over. Vaudreuil, the gov- 
ernor, has told his friends that they need feel no more 
anxiety, and that if General Wolfe should attack again 
he’d find a welcome still warmer than he had at Mont- 
morency.” 

“ Did you see anything of our friends the de St. 
Maur’s, Zeb?” I asked. 

“ Your friends, you mean,” said Zeb with a sly 
grin. 

“ Put it that way, if you wish,” I replied. 

“ I haven’t seen anythin’ of ’em,” said Zeb, “ but I 
saw a fat friend of theirs, and I let him know* I was a 
friend of yours.” 

“ Father Michel?” I asked. 

“ He was a priest, and that was his name,” replied 
Zeb, “ an’ because I saw him and talked with him is 
272 


A RACE FOR A RESCUE. 


273 


the reason I ve come to see you. He gave me this 
letter for you.” 

He handed me a note from Father Michel. It was 
brief, but it excited and alarmed me. It said: “ Louise 
is at the de St. Maur manor house. Savaignan with 
others has followed her. Go there if you can.” The 
priest had wisely left it unsigned. 

I held the letter in my hand for a few moments 
considering. That Savaignan would offer harm to 
Louise, perhaps kidnap her, I did not doubt, but in 
a very few minutes I formed my plan to rescue her. 
I reported to my commanding officer that a party of 
French had gone to the de St. Maur manor house up 
the river, and showed Zeb, who was a well-known 
scout and spy, as proof that my information was cor- 
rect. I asked leave to take Zeb and some rangers and 
cut off the French. As this was directly in line with 
our policy, the leave was granted instantly, and we set 
off without delay. 

I was able to procure but a dozen men on such 
hurried notice, but I trusted that they would prove 
sufficient. They were a good, sound, hardy lot, nine 
New Englanders and three New Yorkers, all dressed 
in green to match the foliage of the forests, though the 
splashes of brown in the leaves were now increasing 
fast. In addition, there was Zeb, who was often worth 
a detachment, and myself, making fourteen in all. It 
was not likely that Savaignan had a large party, and 
I thought we would be able to take care of both him 
and his men if we arrived in time. If in time was what 
alarmed me. But Zeb had left Quebec with his letters 
only that morning, and I was hopeful. 

We were lucky enough to get passage on one of 
our ships which was preparing at that very moment 
to run the batteries and pass beyond the town, and 
with my little troop I embarked. I had seen this risky 


274 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


act done twice, but I had not taken part in it before. 
Nevertheless, we sailed past without any damage ex- j 
cept some holes in our rigging, a smashed spar or 
two, and one sailor slightly wounded, though the 
French burned a deal of powder and fired many good } 
cannon balls into the uncomplaining air. 

We landed above the town beyond the French lines, j 
the ship going no farther, and the rest of the journey 
we would be compelled to make on foot. But this we 
did not dread, as men who are accustomed to forests 
learn to walk with the speed and endurance almost of 
horses. Moreover, my men were well provided with 
zeal, for I held before them the possibility of some 
rich plunder, always a temptation to rangers. I 
thought that for the sake of Louise’s safety I might be 
pardoned the confiscation of a few articles at the cha- 
teau. 

The sun was setting, but we pressed on at speed, 
sometimes in the forests and sometimes in the open. 
Despite our haste, we kept a good watch and guarded 
against surprise — a most useful precaution, for we 
might at any moment encounter a band of French or 
Indians. I had taken careful note of the way when I 
returned from the manor house with Father Michel, 
and I recognized several landmarks. So I felt easy 
on that point, and our rapid progress made me very 
hopeful. 

The chief of my rangers, excepting Zeb Crane, of 
course, was that very Ephraim Cook, the New Hamp- 
shire man, who had used my shoulder when in the boat 
as a rest for his rifle. By his advice and Zeb’s, we 
stopped just after dark and ate heartily of our rations. 
Then we resumed our journey. The coolness of the 
night was very favorable to walking, and we made 
admirable time. Twice we passed ruined and deserted 
farmhouses. So far as we could see in the moonlight 


A RACE FOR A RESCUE. 275 

and in our hurried passage, they had been stripped 
clean. Not even a chicken was left to pick worms in 
the deserted fields. 

But oftener we were in the woods. Here we 
dropped naturally into the Indian mode of walking in 
single file, Zeb or Cook or myself by turns leading. 
We were so silent that we were like a procession of 
ghosts passing through the forest, and we made but 
little more noise. Shortly after midnight we stopped 
to eat and rest a little more, for in case of a skirmish 
or other encounter at the house we would need all 
our strength. Then we resumed our ghostly proces- 
sion. I was not so well trained to such business as the 
others, but I had more at stake, and that fact kept me 
on an equality of strength with them. 

It was scarcely possible for us to go wrong in the 
night. I knew the house was near the river, and to 
that we could always come back. There was the road 
along which Father Michel and I had driven, but it 
did not follow a direct enough course for us. 

Midnight came and then the small hours, which 
are so long. Trees and rocks assumed the ghostly 
quality which two or three o’clock in the morning im- 
parts. A sharp chill was in the air, but our vigorous 
walking kept us warm. The daylight was at hand 
when I saw a strip of roof appearing above a low hill. 

I knew that strip of roof belonged to the seigneur’s 
barn, for I had noticed it when Father Michel and I 
came away. I encouraged my men with the news that 
we had almost reached our destination, and we hurried , 
toward the lower hill. When we reached its crest we 
saw the indistinct mass of the manor house in an open- 
ing beyond. A thin and lazy coil of smoke arose, and 
in the gray light of the early dawn the place appeared 
to be peaceful and sleeping. In a small inclosure stood 
a spotted cow looking at us with calm eyes. Nowhere 


2j6 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

was there a sign of disturbance, and my spirits went 
away up, for I was sure that we had arrived in time. 

The manor house was a square, massive structure 
of hewn logs, much like the blockhouses on our own 
frontier, and, as I have noted before, used in the be- 
ginning for the same purpose. In those early days 
the woods had been cleared away beyond rifle shot of 
the house, that they might not offer ambush to ene- 
mies, but they had since grown up somewhat. A half 
dozen low outhouses were scattered about in helter- 
skelter fashion. We stood for a few moments on the 
hill. I was studying how I should reward my little 
army, which I had promised plunder. I changed my 
mind about the latter, and decided that I would pay 
them out of my own pocket, which was tolerably well 
filled with English gold. I gave the word to advance, 
and forward we went. 

We were winding our way through the new growth 
of forest, which as yet consisted but of saplings, when 
I jumped almost a foot high at the report of a rifle 
from the other side of the house. A bullet giving 
out its alarming little hiss passed directly between Zeb 
Crane and me and imbedded itself with a spat in the 
trunk of a sapling. The discharge of the rifle was 
followed in a second by another, and one of my men 
lost a nice little patch from the shoulder of his green 
•coat. 

Men trained like mine know what to do in such a 
case, and in about five seconds my army had whirled 
about and concealed itself in the most approved fash- 
ion in the woods or thickets. Two more shots while 
this brief operation was in progress hastened our re- 
tirement. I saw some smoke rising from the woods 
on the other side of the cleared ground which assured 
me that the shots had come from that point and not 
from the house, as I had at first thought. Both Zeb 


A RACE FOR A RESCUE. 


277 

and Eph were near me, and when I appealed to them 
for an explanation of this ambush they agreed with a 
quickness and unanimity that showed they must be 
right. 

“ It’s as simple as failin’ off a log,” said Zeb. 
“ Savaignan and his crowd got here at the same time 
we did, only they came up on the other side of the 
clearin’. They saw us first, and plunked away at us.” 

These seemed to me to be the facts of the case, and 
I built my plans upon them. After their sudden volley 
the French were quiet, lying hidden in their own patch 
of woods. The smoke from their shots drifted above 
the treetops and was dissipated in the growing light 
of the dawn. We could not see a rifle barrel or the 
corner of a garment. The French had concealed them- 
selves with the address of the savages whose acts they 
have learned to practice so well. 

• Nobody seemed to be astir in the house. Its in- 
mates apparently slumbered on, which could well be 
a fact, for unless some one was on guard it would take 
the report of a little cannon to penetrate those foot- 
thick log walls and reach sleepy ears. The roof was 
of red tiles, and the beams of the rising sun struck 
upon it, glanced away, and cast red splotches on the 
leaves of the adjacent forest. The lazy coil of smoke 
rising from a fire left overnight drifted away with the 
light wind. The spotted cow, aroused by the shots, 
came down to the end of her lot and looked through 
the bars with reproachful eyes. 

I laid my plan before Zeb and Eph; it was to enter 
the house as quickly as possible and then beat off 
Savaignan and his party. 

“ But how are you goin’ to get in?” asked Zeb. 

“ They’re all sound asleep in the house. The door 
yonder is closed and barred. While we’re tryin’ to 
beat it in or to wake ’em up or before they can open 


278 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

it the French can pick us off as easy as shootin’ at a 
mark.” 

I was forced to admit that Zeb had put the matter 
right. We would have to contrive some method of 
awakening the people in the house without exposing 
ourselves to the French fire. I sent out three or four 
skirmishers to protect our own party from attack while 
we were deliberating, and then we three, Zeb, Eph, 
and I, set about our task, which was none so easy. 

We thought at first of making a direct attack upon 
Savaignan, but in forest warfare the chief danger is in 
the offensive. Moreover, we did not know the strength 
of the French party. Our doubts were resolved for us 
by an untoward event; I say untoward, but perhaps, 
after all, it was fortunate. 

The big oaken door of the manor house was opened 
and a face and figure appeared. It was the face and 
figure of old Pierre, the seigneur’s loyal follower. He 
stood there a few seconds looking out, and some one 
in the French part of the woods fired a rifle. It was 
intended that the bullet should be Pierre’s. It struck 
the facing of the doorway, causing some splinters to 
fly. Pierre was no fool, and proved it. He jumped 
back with a quickness worthy of a man thirty years 
younger, and we heard the bang of the heavy door as 
it was slammed. 

I could not understand why the French had fired at 
Pierre, unless it was because Savaignan thought the 
old fellow was in the way of his plans. It would be 
easy enough for an unscrupulous man to invent some 
plausible excuse for Pierre’s taking off. But the shot 
was unfortunate for us, as Pierre would be sure to 
think it was some English raiding party and not his 
countrymen who had fired upon him. 

“ They’ll be on guard in the house,” said Cook. 
“ It’s that much gained at least.” 


A RACE FOR A RESCUE. 279 

“ Perhaps Mile, de St. Maur will come out to treat 
with the invaders,” I said. I had confided all the 
secrets of the expedition to Cook, who was a trusty 
man. 

In that case she’ll have two parties of invaders 
instead of one to treat with, and maybe we can make 
the better treaty,” said Cook. 

This was true. Our chance for a treaty was cer- 
tainly as good as Savaignan’s, and, if I knew Louise as 
I thought I did, perhaps a good deal better. But I was 
in great anxiety lest she should be exposed to “a shot 
intended for some other. In five minutes the door was 
opened again and Louise herself appeared there. I 
intended to rise up and shout a caution to her, but 
Cook dragged me back. 

“Keep still, lieutenant!” he said. “They are 
bound to see who it is, and they won’t shoot.” 

I saw that he was right and remained quiet. Lou'se 
stood in the doorway gazing at the woods. I was 
too far away to perceive the look of wonder which 
must have been on her face when she saw nothing 
but the peaceful woods and the dawn of a bright 
day. 

She stood there looking about, apparently confident 
that her womanhood would protect her from such 
shots as had been aimed at Pierre. Then I saw some 
one emerge from the French part of the woods and 
walk toward her. It was Savaignan. He seemed to 
trust that the apparently peaceful nature of his errand 
would cause us to withhold our fire. Nor was the 
man deficient in bravery, as his coming to New York 
as a spy showed. 

I took my resolution at once. Bidding Cook to 
keep the men quiet and watch us, I also sprang up 
and walked toward the house. Savaignan may have 
been surprised at my imitation of his proceeding, but 


280 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


he kept his countenance. Louise was bewildered, and 
she did not seek to conceal it. She stared at one and 
then at the other as we approached from opposite di- 
rections. She gave me a warm smile, which, I believe, 
would have been warmer had it not been for the pres- 
ence of Savaignan. I took a look at the woods from 
which Savaignan had come, but could see nothing 
of his comrades. 

“ I wish you a happy morning, Mile, de St. Maur; 
you appear with the dawn and are as bright,” I said in 
the courtliest manner I could muster. We talked in a 
rather lofty fashion in those days. I had determined 
that I would act asif I were in a drawing-room as long 
as peace was preserved. 

“ I am glad to see so gallant and generous an 
enemy as you, Lieutenant Charteris,” she said, smiling 
at me very brightly and giving me her hand. 

This was poison to Savaignan, but he was not 
wanting in readiness. He, too, made the compliments 
of the morning, and in a high-flown French way 
likened the appearance of Mile, de St. Maur to that 
of the sun which dimmed all else. 

“ Some one fired at my servant Pierre as he opened 
the door and missed him but a trifle,” said Louise. 
“ Do you know who was guilty of the crime, Captain 
Savaignan? ” 

“ Certainly, mademoiselle,” said Savaignan, with 
the bow of a courtier and the face of the father of lies. 
“ Hidden in the woods yonder is a party of English 
robbers come upon their favorite pursuit of pillage. 
When Pierre opened the door one of them fired at 
him, and they would have murdered all of you had I 
not fortunately arrived just in time. Mademoiselle, I 
beseech you to commit yourself to our protection at 
once.” 

The precious scoundrel said it with a good face, 


A RACE FOR A RESCUE. 


28l 


and Louise looked reproachfully at me. I saw that I 
must be as ready as Savaignan. 

“ Mlle - de St. Maur,” I said, “ I am sorry to con- 
tradict Captain Savaignan in your presence, but it was 
one of his men, not mine, who fired at Pierre, and it 
is we who will save this house and its inmates from 
pillage and murder. The Frenchmen in the woods 
out there are a band of robbers and cutthroats, not 
regular soldiers. Mademoiselle, I beseech you to com- 
mit yourself to our protection at once.” 

Savaignan glanced at me. I edged around a bit, 
putting a corner of the house between me and his 
hidden marksmen. But I do not think I was in much 
danger of a shot. If any of the French had fired at 
me, my men would have brought down Savaignan 
at once, and he knew it, and his men knew it too. 

“ You do not seem to agree upon an important 
point, gentlemen,” said Louise. 

“ I am a Frenchman, your countryman, and your 
betrothed. You can not go, mademoiselle, with the 
English, the enemies of your father and yourself,” said 
Savaignan, putting his hand upon his heart in a man- 
ner smacking of the theater. 

“ Mademoiselle,” I said earnestly, “ do not trust 
yourself in this man’s hands. He is a villain, and he 
has come here for no good purpose.” 

I knew that Louise believed me, but I saw also the 
reason why she was in a quandary. Savaignan was a 
French officer, ostensibly in good standing, and she 
could not favor the English while he and his country- 
men were present. She took the middle course. 

“ This is a peaceful house, occupied by noncom- 
batants,” she said, “ and I will not admit either of you. 
— Close the door, Marie! ” 

I saw the maid standing behind her, and when 
Louise stepped back the quick little Marie slammed 


282 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


the door and threw the heavy bar into place, as I could 
very well hear. But time enough had been left Louise 
to give me a quick glance of entreaty, which said as 
plain as speech, “ Get out of danger at once.” 

That I proceeded to do, recognizing its necessity. 

“ Good-by, Savaignan!” I shouted, and I skipped 
off toward my own men. In my rapid flight I noticed 
that he was making a similar retreat toward his own 
quarter of the wood. One shot was fired at me, but 
a flying target at a good distance is hard to hit, and I 
reached the woods in safety. The shot was a signal 
for one to be sent after Savaignan, but he, too, was 
untouched, and in a minute previous conditions were 
restored — that is, the house was closed and locked on 
the noncombatants, and outside English and French 
were face to face, each keeping the other from his 
object. 

It was a puzzling position, and I think Solomon 
himself would have found difficulty in telling us the 
right thing to do. I distrusted that old scamp Pierre. 
I feared that he would communicate with the French 
in some manner and let them into the house. That 
Louise herself would do so I never believed for a mo- 
ment. 

“ It looks as if the girl intended to hold the house 
herself, don’t it, captain? What do you intend to do? ” 
asked Cook when I rejoined my men. 

“The French will lay siege to the house,” I said. 
“ We must beat them and then take the place.” 

My men were quite willing to undertake the job. 
War was their trade for the time. Moreover, in com- 
mon with all the remainder of our army, they were 
smarting under the defeat at Montmorency, which the 
French rubbed into us by sending us insulting mes- 
sages and sarcastic invitations to attack again. 

Zeb did a little scouting, and returned with in- 


A RACE FOR A RESCUE. 283 

formation that the French were about as numerous 
as ourselves, and that they had began to edge up as 
if they meant to attack us. I suggested that we move 
around the circuit in the same direction and attack 
them from the rear, where we would most likely have 
the advantage of a surprise. This plan commended 
itself to Zeb and Cook, and we proceeded to put it 
into action. 

The woods formed a complete circle around the 
house, near at some points and distant at others. The 
trunks were sufficiently numerous and the foliage 
dense enough to conceal us, and we stepped with 
great caution to avoid noise. Cook and two others 
covered our rear, in order to keep us from being the 
overtaken and surprised party. Thus we proceeded, 
Zeb Crane leading, myself and the majority of the 
men following. 

It was full day now, the sun having risen above the 
treetops, and was very bright. But it was a dense 
forest. The seigneur certainly would never have al- 
lowed it to grow up in this manner had he contem- 
plated such a thing as a siege of his house. 


19 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. 

Forward we went, saying nothing and preserving 
our formation. It was warm work, stepping on tip- 
toe and trying to look in three or four directions at 
once. I had a small sword, and I unbuckled it and 
took it in my hand to keep it from striking against 
the bushes and making a rattle that would attract the 
attention of the French. The other men carried their 
rifles in their hands ready for use. 

“Do you see anything of them?” I whispered at 
length to Zeb Crane, who was just in front of me. 

He shook his head and turned a rather worried 
look upon me. 

“ I don’t see ’em,” he said, “ but we ought to. 
We’ve been cornin’ pretty fast, an’ it’s time to catch 
sight of the back of some sneakin’ Frenchman.” 

“ Push on,” I said; “we’ll see them soon.” 

On Zeb went, and we followed close after. Pres- 
ently we came around to the point from which we 
had started, but not a Frenchman did we see. I was 
perplexed. That Savaignan would withdraw was in- 
credible, and we had kept near enough to the edge 
of the woods to watch the open and be sure they had 
not gone into any of the outhouses. 

I consulted the rear as well as the head of the 
column, and found that Cook, too, had seen nothing. 

“ I guess we’ll find ’em just ahead of us,” said Zeb. 

284 


MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. 285 

So we pushed ahead with our second revolution 
around the manor house. At intervals of fifty yards 
or so we stopped to listen, but not a sound except the 
rustling of the leaves before the slight puffs of wind 
came to us. The house remained tightly closed, dis- 
closing no sign of life save for the smoke. In the 
opening nothing stirred but the spotted cow, which 
seemed to know just where we were, and revolved 
around the lot as we revolved around the larger circle 
of the woods, always keeping her big, mild eyes fixed 
upon our position. She annoyed me. It was like act- 
ing as a spy for the enemy, but I had enough to do 
watching for Savaignan and his men without trying 
to shoo a spotted cow. 

Our second revolution was complete, and still no 
Savaignan. I began to believe that after all the fellow 
had taken alarm and left the field and the enterprise 
to us. But reflection showed that it was scarcely cred- 
ible, for, much as I disliked him, I did not believe that 
Savaignan was a coward. 

So on we went with the third revolution, that con- 
founded spotted cow revolving with us as if she were 
the hub of a wheel and we the outer rim. This, too, 
was completed without result, and then Zeb, looking 
down at the ground, began to laugh. 

“Why do you laugh?” I asked. 

“ Look at the grass and the leaves,” said Zeb. 

Even to my untrained eyes the trampled grass and 
leaves showed a well-defined trail. 

“ It means,” said Zeb, still laughing, “ that we’ve 
been pursuing them and they’ve been pursuing us at 
equal speed, and that there’s just the same stretch of 
ground between us now that there was when we 
started. See, we’ve been treadin’ in each other’s tracks 
over and over ag’in.” 

Beyond a doubt we had been chasing each other 


286 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


around the circle just as the Frenchman and I before 
Ticonderoga had revolved on a smaller scale around 
a tree. But with Savaignan there could be no such 
peaceful ending. 

We stopped a moment or two to deliberate, but our 
conference was broken up by a shout from Cook and 
the firing of his rifle. The Frenchmen had burst sud- 
denly from the wood and made a rush for the outhouse 
nearest the manor building. Cook’s shot had been 
too hurried to do any damage, and all the Frenchmen 
reached the stout log structure in safety. 

“ That’s what I call a flank movement, and it 
wasn’t fair,” said Zeb in an aggrieved tone. 

The stable was now as silent as the house. The 
Frenchmen were fortified against us, but I could not 
see that they had gained any great advantage. From 
the shelter of the stable they could keep us away from 
the house so long as the day lasted, but that was all. 
We might besiege them in their fort, and, by cutting 
them off from food and water, compel them to sur- 
render without great risk to ourselves. 

On the whole, I was not dissatisfied with the situa- 
tion. 

I conferred with my lieutenants, Zeb and Cook, , 
and we detailed six men as sharpshooters to cover all 
the sides of the stable. I had thought it possible to 
approach the house from the side opposite the stable, 
making the house itself serve as our shelter, but a 
little investigation showed that the plan would not do. 
The stable was a long building, and a rifleman at one 
end or the other could reach us when we came within 
a certain distance. The plan must be abandoned, the 
risks being too great, for these Frenchmen, who live 
the warlike life of the woods, become expert marks- 
men. 

They appeared to be taking matters philosophically 


MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. 28/ 

in the house. The volume of smoke from the stone 
chimney increased as if Marie were cooking a sub- 
i stantial breakfast for Louise, Pierre, and whomsoever 
| else might be inside, if anybody. It was a well-pro- 
vided house, as I knew from my own earlier occupancy, 
and I judged that they would lack nothing but fresh 
air, which one can dispense with for a short time in a 
pinch. 

Another conference resulted in a determination to 
wait until night for active operations. We kept our 
six guards on the stable while the rest of us sought 
out the most comfortable spot in the woods beyond 
the range of our enemies and waited. It was dreary 
work. Waiting always is. The sun ascended toward 
the center of the heavens, and the close heat accumu- 
lated, thick and stifling, under the boughs. One 
speaks of the cool shade of the forest, but a dense 
forest often serves merely to hold the heat and keep 
the cool breezes away until it becomes like a stove. 

I leaned against a log and at intervals wiped the 
sweat from my face. I would have preferred action, 
but I knew its great risks while the daylight lasted. 
We ate some dinner out of the supply we had brought 
with us, and then resumed the old task of waiting. 
House and stable were as still as the dead. Evidently 
Savaignan, too, was content to wait, and Louise had 
no choice but to do so whether content or not. The 
long afternoon shortened, minute by minute, though 
they were clipped off the hours very slowly. 

The slow minutes turned into slow hours, but even 
the last in time exhausted themselves. The edge of 
the sun reached the edge of the forest, and then we 
beheld the advancing twilight. Night soon came, and 
woods, manor house, and stable were in darkness. 
It was time to carry out my plan, and we set about 
it. Leaving Cook in command of the men, Zeb and 


288 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


I slipped into the open ground toward the house. I 
thought that while the French were watching for an 
attack from us we might arrange to enter the house 
unobserved under cover of the darkness and take 
away the girls, leaving the matter of a fight with the 
French to be disposed of afterward. 

Zeb and I advanced with the caution befitting the 
occasion, both of us bent far over, that our figures 
might not be revealed. Zeb carried his rifle; I had 
sword and pistol. The house had several windows on 
the ground floor, all closed with heavy shutters. I 
was sure that Louise or Marie would be listening and 
watching at one or another of these, and I hoped that 
we would be able to attract their attention and secure 
an entrance. Once inside, whether or not we were 
able to get out again that night, we would have a great 
advantage. 

We were halfway across the opening and our enemy 
had not given the slightest evidence that he saw us. 
A few feet more and we would be beyond the range 
of any rifle from the stable where the French lay. 

An unusually keen eye watching that particular 
point at that particular moment might see us, other- 
wise not. I felt some apprehension and a certain 
tremor at the idea of making myself an unprotected 
target for ambushed Frenchmen, but the point was 
passed in a few moments, and there was no rifle shot, 
no sound whatever from the enemy. 

I had marked a window which I could reach with 
my hand, and we hurried toward it. 

We arrived at the window without interruption, 
and stood close to the house in its dark shadow. 
Looking back from that point toward the woods which 
we had left, I could see only a black blur, the dark- 
ness being great enough to obscure the outlines of tree 
trunks. I felt satisfied that we were not observed, and, 


MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. 289 

reaching out, I tapped on the window shutter with the 
butt of my sword. 

Tap-tap! tap-tap! it sounded. In the dead stillness 
of the night the noise was fearfully distinct. There 
was no answer, and I was forced to repeat it, still with- 
out answer. 

“ Shake it, if you can,” said Zeb, who stood a little 
farther away watching for an attack. 

I pushed at the heavy shutter with my hands, and 
it gave a little, making a heavy rasping noise. 

“Who’s there?” asked some one in a whisper, 
audible through the little crack where two of the 
boards joined. I knew the voice was Louise’s, and in 
the same whisper I answered that it was I, Edward 
Charteris, and I begged her for the sake of everything 
to open the window at once. 

The window was opened and Louise’s face, pale in 
the dark, appeared. Marie looked over her shoulder, 
half frightened, half delighted. Without another word 
from me, without giving them time to think or ask 
questions, I seized the window sill, pulled myself up, 
and scrambled in, Zeb following close after me. Then 
we closed the window and barred it. 

In a corner of the room a candle made a faint 
light. I glanced at Louise. Her face was still very 
pale, but I could see that I was welcome — ay! three- 
fold welcome. 

“ I do not know what my father would say,” she 
said with an attempt at a jest and a laugh, “ when he 
hears that I refused to admit the foes of France to his 
house by day but let them in by night.” 

“ There is ample reason for it,” I said. “ Savaignan 
is a blackguard and a robber and worse, and you know 
it, if your father does not.” 

“ Yes, yes,” she said hurriedly, “ I fear that it is 
true, but what do you mean to do?” 


290 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


“ Zeb and I will carry you away with us,” I said. 
“ We have some honest men outside who will escort 
you in safety to the English camp, and then send you 
back into Quebec if you wish. If there is any question 
of your loyalty to France, you can say we took you 
by force; it would be the whitest of lies. At any rate, 
no harm would be done.” 

I felt what I said very deeply, and I knew that my 
manner and words impressed her. Again little Marie 
was my loyal second and ally. 

“Yes, yes, mademoiselle!” she cried. “Monsieur 
speaks the truth; it is better for us to go and escape 
those wolves outside who call themselves Frenchmen.” 

“ I will trust you,” said Louise to me. — “ Come, 
Marie, let us get our cloaks and Pierre and go.” 

She took the candle and led the way into the next 
room, Marie, Zeb, and I but a step behind, her. 

As I passed through the doorway I saw the light 
of another candle coming to meet us. It was held by 
the hands of Pierre, and beside him was Savaignan. 

I think that they were as much surprised as we 
at the meeting. Louise uttered a low cry; Pierre 
nearly let the candle drop. We stood for a moment 
or two staring at each other. All of us except Pierre 
and the girls had arms .in our hands. Savaignan, with 
the natural quickness of a Frenchman, was the first 
to speak. 

“ There is more than one window to the house, and 
more than one man to enter, mademoiselle and mon- 
sieur,” he said with a satirical glance at Louise and 
then at me. v 

“ Yes, and more than one person to admit them,” 
I said, looking at Pierre, for I was sure it was the im- 
placable old wretch who had admitted Savaignan. 

“ We are French, and this is the home of a French- 
man,” said Savaignan. 


MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. 2gi 

“ It is English now,” I replied, “ for we have made 
a conquest of it.” 

We stood just as we were in the first moment after 
seeing each other, Louise and Pierre holding the can- 
dles, Marie crouching in fright near the wall, the 
others of us with our hands on our weapons. I was 
at a loss — never in my life at a greater loss. The pres- 
ence of the women, our equal position, seemed to pre- 
clude a sudden combat. 

Savaignan must have been affected in the same 
manner. 

“ Will you withdraw peaceably,” he asked, “ and 
leave the chateau and its people to us? We can not 
turn a drawing-room into a slaughter house and in 
the presence of its mistress, too.” 

It was true that we were in the drawing-room. 

I had not noticed it before. There were rich rugs 
and furs on the floor, pictures on the walls, and all 
about the room those delicate articles of furniture 
which women love. But I had no idea of withdraw- 
ing. 

“ I was about to make the same request of you,” 
I said to Savaignan. “ The lady does not trust you 
as a true and gallant Frenchman.” 

“ Her father does,” said Savaignan. 

I made no reply. We remained as we were, neither 
side daring to make a movement. A little clock on the 
mantel ticked away most painfully. The situation was 
fast growing insupportable, but I saw no way out 
of it. 

“ Listen! ” cried Marie. 

The faint report of a rifle shot came through the 
thick walls. I knew that the weapon must have been 
fired close by to be heard by us at all. 

A second and a third report, muffled like the first, 
came to our ears. 


292 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

“ I think your men and mine have met,” said 
Savaignan. 

“ I think it very likely,” I replied. 

As proof of our surmises rifles were then fired so 
rapidly that we could not count the shots. Yells and 
whoops, English and French, mingled with the volleys. 
Beyond a doubt my men and the French were match- 
ing their skill and courage in combat. 

“ I don’t think there’s any need of our fightin’,” 
said Zeb, leaning his lank length against the door 
jamb and making himself easy. “ They’ll settle it out 
there for us.” 

The sounds of the conflict continued. The men 
were whooping and firing with great energy and like 
true rangers of the forest. 

“ As all of us are much interested in the result, 
perhaps we would like to hear better,” said Savaignan. 

“ I am sure of it,” I said, and, stepping to a win- 
dow, I threw the heavy shutters open. 

Instantly the noise of the conflict tripled. The 
shouts and the shots seemed to be almost in our ears, 
and the darkness added to the zeal of the combatants. 
Certainly a night conflict excels all others in noise. 
Firing in the darkness, it takes more shots to produce 
a result. 

Accustomed as they had become to warfare and its 
alarms, the girls shuddered at the frightful uproar. 
Louise still held the candle. It might have -been the 
part of gallantry for me to take it from her hand, but 
as I was likely to need my own hands for some more 
serious purpose, I refrained. 

The window was high above the floor, and any 
shot entering there would pass over our heads, but 
the conflict had moved around within its range and 
we could see the flash of the rifles as the men fought 
almost muzzle to muzzle, it seemed. The French cries 


MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. ' 293 

were shriller than ours, and, moreover, the two being 
in different tongues, I could distinguish them easily 
above the uproar. Savaignan had drawn a little nearer 
to the window, and was listening with the most eager, 
intent expression I ever saw on a man’s face. Good 
cause he had too for his anxiety, as the result of the 
contest meant as much to him as to me or to any 
of us. 

The center of conflict began to shift. One side 
was yielding, and the battle would soon be decided. 
The blaze of the guns passed beyond the range of the 
window. Presently the firing itself began to diminish. 
I had known that this result must come soon. The 
combat was too fierce to last long. I listened intently 
to the shouting, that I might tell by it which side was 
winning. 

The deep American cheer rose above the whoops of 
the French and soon submerged the sound of them. 
I could not repress a feeling of elation which must 
have showed on my face. Savaignan as well as I knew 
to which side the victory was inclining. The scatter- 
ing fire outside ceased suddenly, was followed by a 
long triumphant shout, and then silence. 

Savaignan was standing beside the window. With 
a quickness I could not anticipate, he dashed the candle 
from the old Canadian’s hands and sprang toward Lou- 
ise. I slashed at him with my sword, but I was too 
late. He seized Louise, and the candle, falling from 
her hand, sputtered still on the floor, but gave out so 
faint a light that we could scarce see each other’s 
faces. 

We were checkmated for the moment. Zeb, ex- 
pert marksman though he was, dared not fire in the 
obscurity at Savaignan for fear of hitting Louise, 
whom the Frenchman held between himself and us. 

“ To the door, Pierre! ” shouted Savaignan. 


294 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

He dragged Louise toward the second door, the 
one through which they had entered. I sprang for- 
ward to interfere, but Pierre fired a pistol ball at me, 
which missed, though the flash of the powder blinded 
and stopped me for a few moments. Before I could 
recover or before Zeb, who was farther away, could 
help, Savaignan and Pierre were through the door 
with Louise, and had slammed it in our faces. Little 
Marie stuck her head out of the window and shouted 
at the top of her voice: 

“ Help, Englishmen! For the love of Heaven and 
the Holy Virgin, help! ” 

I threw all my weight against the closed door, but 
they had locked it, and it withstood the impact. I 
heard a muffled sound like a shriek from Louise, and 
I was hot with rage and grief that Savaignan had out- 
witted me and secured such a hostage. Zeb dragged 
Marie from the window and shouted in her ear, asking 
if there were not another way to reach Savaignan. 
Marie, as I have said, was a girl of ready wit, and 
under Zeb’s rough handling all her courage and pres- 
ence of mind came back to her. 

“ Come through the hall! ” she cried, dashing out 
at the first door. 

We followed so closely that we were almost at her 
side. The rugs and furs had caught from the sputter- 
ing candle and were in a blaze, but we had no time to 
stop for such things. The hall was narrow, and made 
three or four turnings. At the last we heard the noise 
of footsteps above us. 

“ Up the stairway!” cried Marie. “They have 
gone to the second floor!” 

We would probably have broken our heads or limbs 
in the darkness had it not been for the brave little 
Marie, who knew the way. She dashed for the stair- 
way, and we followed her dim figure in the half dusk. 


MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. 295 

I took three steps at a bound, but stopped at the sight 
of Savaignan and Pierre at the head of the steps. The 
Frenchman held Louise by the waist. I could not see 
the expression of his face, but from the sound of his 
voice I judged that he had gone mad. 

“ If you come a step farther,” he cried, “ I will 
kill her, I swear it, and then we will fight with you 
for the house afterward.” 

I believed that he meant it. The French are very 
hot of blood, and sometimes do strange, wild things. 
I shrank back, not willing that my own action should 
destroy the dear girl whom I was trying to save. Zeb, 
too, paused beside me, his fertile brain for once at a 
loss. 

Our deliverance came from Louise herself. She 
was no milk-and-water girl, fainting at the sight of 
danger, but a brave woman, who seldom forgot the 
spirit of the race from which she sprang. Reaching 
up, she seized Savaignan’s pistol with both hands and 
suddenly jerked it from him. He loosed his grasp of 
her waist and snatched at the weapon to regain it, but 
in a moment she had fled down the steps and was with 
us. Thence at my quick command she and Marie fled 
down the hall and were concealed by the last turn. 
Savaignan did not fire upon me. He had another 
pistol, and I wondered why he did not attempt to use 
it. His attitude was that of a listener. I, too, bent 
my ear, and I heard the distant hum of encouraging 
cries and commands to hasten. I knew it was my 
faithful men clambering in at the open window to our 
rescue. Mingled with it was a steady though sub- 
dued roar, like the far-away sound of water pouring 
over a rock, that I did not recognize. My attention 
was distracted by these sounds; so must have been 
Zeb’s, for Savaignan and Pierre turned and rushed 
into one of the rooms on the second floor. I sprang 


296 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


up two steps to follow them, but Zeb came after me 
and put a strong and restraining hand upon fny arm. 

“ Look, leftenant! ” he said, pulling me around and 
pointing down the hall. 

A broad light flared even to the stairway, and the 
roar which had mystified me grew louder. The crack- 
ling of dry wood and the shouts of my men calling to 
me and Zeb mingled with it. 

“ The house is on fire,” said Zeb calmly. “ We’d 
better let the Frenchmen go and save them gals and 
ourselves.” 

At the turning Louise and Marie were waiting for 
us, somewhat frightened, but armed with presence of 
mind. The fire was feeding fast upon the dry timbers 
of the house. Smoke, lit here and there with sparks, 
was beginning to fly down the hall. I knew that the 
old house must soon go; all the result of one over- 
turned candle. * 

“ Come, I’ll show the way,” said my brave Louise. 
I seized her hand in the excitement of the moment, I 
suppose, and she led the way by another route to the 
floor below, Zeb and Marie following. There the noise 
of the flames was louder, for one end of the house 
seemed to be all ablaze, but we came plump among 
my men, half lost in the mazes of the old French house, 
and shouting for me and Zeb. They welcomed us with 
a glad shout, but, not stopping for explanations, we 
ran to the nearest window, which we threw open, and 
all scrambled out with a sad loss of dignity but plenty 
of gladness. 

When we stood on the ground fifty yards from the 
house, I was amazed at the extent to which the fire had 
grown in so short a space. 

It was as light as day almost to the rim of the 
forest. The flames had eaten through the roof and 
shot far above it, discharging showers of sparks. 


MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. 297 

I sent men to the other side of the house and or- 
dered them not to fire on Savaignan and Pierre when 
they appeared in case they offered to surrender. But 
as the fire spread with great rapidity to all parts of the 
house, the two Frenchmen, much to my surprise, did 
not appear. 

“ They ran up toward the roof,” said Zeb, “an’ 
the fire was below. Maybe they were cut off.” 

It was so. The faces of Savaignan and Pierre ap- 
peared at an opening in the roof. Then they climbed 
upon it, and stood a moment or two as if calculating 
the possibilities of escape. I think they would have 
risked the chances of the long drop to the ground, 
but with a great crash the roof, its supports eaten 
away by the fire, fell in, carrying the two Frenchmen 
with it. 

The two girls withdrew from the sad sight, but 
some of us stood by until the last of the building fell, 
and only great heaps of embers remained where the 
manor house of St. Maur had stood. Beneath the 
charred fragments what was left of the bones of Savai- 
gnan and Pierre rested, and may rest to this day. 

It was a melancholy fate. I had no cause to like 
Savaignan, but he possessed cunning and courage, 
neither of which had availed him anything in the end. 
His luck was bad and mine good, I suppose. 

There was no work left for us to do, and I thought 
of returning at once with Louise and her maid to the 
camp before Quebec. But they were too much worn 
with excitement to start at once, and, in truth, all of 
us needed rest. 

We left the remains of the house and moved a 
mile farther up the river to a clearing which was large 
enough to forbid ambush, and built a fire there, as the 
night was turning chilly. I persuaded Louise and 
Marie to lie down beside it and sleep. 


298 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

Cook told me briefly that a few minutes after Zeb 
had gone into the house he and his men unexpectedly 
met the French in the woods, into which they had 
slipped from the stable. A fierce combat, almost hand 
to hand, followed, in which the French were routed, 
their survivors fleeing with incredible speed. We ha‘d 
lost two men and several more had wounds. I re- 
gretted my brave fellows, but had not time to mourn 
them long, and, as Zeb aptly remarked, the luck had 
been nearly all on our side. 

We began the return next morning. It was slow, 
of necessity, as partisan bands abounded in the woods, 
and we had no wish just then for a further encounter 
with the French. I walked by the side of Louise for 
awhile, and we had a chance to talk unheard by others. 

I was troubled somewhat by the view the Seigneur 
de St. Maur might take of these affairs. He was the 
friend of Savaignan, and would be loath to believe that 
he had gone to the manor house with bad intentions. 
I expressed these doubts to Louise, but she brushed 
them aside and said she 'would be able to prove the 
truth to her father. 

“And I hope that then he will be able to think 
well of me in other respects, not merely as an honor- 
able foe,” I said. 

“ He surely will,” she replied softly and with a 
blush. 

Our further journey was without event. We passed 
around Quebec in safety, and, as my duty bade me, I 
reported that we had rescued two French ladies on our 
raid from some prowlers, and asked what to do with 
them. The reply was to send them in to Quebec to 
their friends. 

Fifteen or twenty others taken from the manor 
houses along the river were going at the same time. 
I bade Louise good-by for awhile. Her hand lingered 


MLLE. DE ST. MAUR’s PREFERENCE. 299 

in mine. Zeb was there, and with the freedom of the 
backwoods he chucked the brave little Marie under 
the chin. She gave him a smart blow on the cheek 
and called him an English bear, but Zeb did not seem 
to mind. 

I had proof that Louise put the case well to her 
father, for in a few days the good Father Michel smug- 
gled me a letter from the seigneur himself, in which 
he thanked me and with true French politeness en- 
larged on the obligations of his family to me, hoping 
that the time would come when he could repay me. 
I hoped so too. 


20 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. 

Time began to lag again. The country was rav- 
aged in an ever-widening circle, of which Quebec was 
the center. There was a skirmish somewhere nearly 
every day, and our batteries which threatened the 
great rock were seldom silent. But all these things 
were mere smoke and noise. The real issue was 
Quebec, and we seemed to get no nearer a favorable 
result. Sickness devastated our camps, and it was 
reported two or three times that the general in chief 
was dying. Then came the news from below that we 
had taken Ticonderoga and Crown Point, that Niagara 
had fallen, and that Amherst with a powerful army 
was about to advance on Montreal. This was wine to 
us, and we pressed the siege with much vigor. 

One night I saw our batteries on Point Levis set 
the lower town on fire. It was not the first time, but 
this night the blaze became a conflagration, and the 
flames rose far above the houses they were devouring. 
In their light Quebec and its rock became a great cone 
of red, pink on the outer edges, while above the area 
of light a black smoke cloud gathered. 

The glow of the flames fell in long red bars across 
the river, and the rigging of an English ship in the 
stream seemed touched with fire. It appeared to us 
from the violence of the fire and its duration that the 
whole lower town was burning, but the flames sank 
300 


ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. 301 

after awhile, died out at last, and left river and city 
to their customary half darkness. We heard the next 
day that nearly two hundred houses had been burned. 
The unfortunate population of Quebec, and not the 
:j French army, had been the chief sufferers. 

Our burst of enthusiasm at the report of Am- 
herst’s progress was soon dispelled by news that he 
was calmly enjoying his triumphs and was not ad- 
vancing on Montreal, leaving us to carry on the war 
in Canada alone. We fell back into our old despond- 
ency, and it was increased by the reports that the ill- 
ness of our general was gaining upon him. I had 
occasion once to carry dispatches to him, and I proved 
for myself the truth of these reports. 

The general’s headquarters were in an old French 
farmhouse in our camp at Montmorency. He lay in 
his bed in a room on the second floor, and his face was 
! so pale, so thin, so drawn that he looked to me like 
a man dying, only his eye was strong and bright. 
Yet the fires of a hero still burned in him, and with 
eagerness and wonderful pertinency he drew from me, 
as he did from all others who came before him, every 
scrap of information that I had to give. 

Zeb made another successful trip into Quebec. He 
j seemed to have established a sort of underground 
system of communication with Father Michel, and 
brought me news that the seigneur was exultant, more 
confident than ever that the English would be sent 
scuttling out of Canada, but that mademoiselle his 
daughter was not so sure. 

“ She has a better opinion of the English, or some 
of ’em,” said Zeb with a familiarity which I tolerated 
on that occasion. 

August passed, September came, and not much had 
happened, save that more of our ships had run the 
French batteries, and quite a brave fleet was anchored 


302 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


above the town. I was in the camp at Montmorency, 
and a lot of us were gathered in the shade of some 
tents. Culverhouse was there, and Spencer, now my 
very good friend, Graham, and others. We were dis- 
cussing the campaign listlessly when the shadow of 
Martin Groot fell over us. 

“ Any fresh profits, Mynheer Groot? ” I asked. He 
was well known to the others, too, as a patriot whose 
profits grew larger the longer the campaign lasted. 

Martin took the gibe calmly. He looked at us a 
few moments with a pitying expression, then rejoined: 

“ None at present, but there are to be fresh blows 
for you, gentlemen; you might as well get ready for 
them.” 

They rallied him, and wanted to know when and 
where the blows were to be given, but they got nothing 
more from him, and he went away, leaving them in a 
state of unbelief. I had known him a long time, how- 
ever, and, as I was aware of his shrewdness and his 
possession of good sources of information, I was con- 
fident that some great operation was afoot. 

My prevision was correct, for we broke up camp 
the next day at Montmorency and took ship for Point 
Levis and the Point of Orleans. The French came 
down in strong force behind us to give us a scorching 
by way of a parting souvenir, but thought better of it 
when we turned to meet them. 

Then followed a short period of great doubt to 
many of us, but soon we were gathered above the town 
for a decisive blow. Everybody seemed to feel that 
the end was coming — the end of the French power in 
Quebec or the end of our attempt to destroy it. Many 
of our heaviest batteries had been taken from their 
former resting places. The bombardment sank to 
nothing, and the silence of the great guns, the anxiety 
on the faces of all seemed certain portents of a great 


ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. 303 

attempt. The waning summer, the browning of the 
leaves, the increasing chill of the night air, too, told 
us it was time to do what we intended to do or we 
would soon have a Quebec winter as well as the French 
to fight. 

I shall not forget the many hours, the days even, 
we passed in the transports, so chock-full of red-coated 
soldiers that the air became heat to the lungs and a 
disgust to the nostrils. Down we drifted and back 
we sailed, and then down and back again, until we 
began to feel as if it was our duty to go forever back 
and forth like the pendulum of a clock. The only 
humor in it to me was the sight of the French rushing 
up and down the rough cliffs that they might meet us 
wherever we would attempt to land. I have no doubt 
that we were responsible for many a bruised French 
foot and ankle and many an abused French oath. I 
saw one fat fellow — a sergeant, I think — in his eager- 
ness to keep abreast of our ship tumble into a gully, 
and it took two of his comrades to drag him out. But 
it was an anxious time for me nevertheless. Not alone 
was I concerned with the fate of the campaign — even 
a private will feel such an interest as that — but there 
were those in Quebec who were much in my mind too, 
and it hurts a man’s nerves to be beset on either side 
by anxieties. 

The night of the 12th of September came, and we 
were gathered in a fleet in the river, but we had a 
bigger fleet down below. We above the town knew 
that a decisive hour was at hand. When the dark 
came on a cannon from the fleet below thundered. 
It was followed by another and then another, and then 
the crash of whole broadsides, and river and shore 
echoed with the roar of the fleet’s great guns. 

But above the town we who were to do the real 
work lay in darkness and silence, while the mock com- 


304 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


bat below thundered and blazed and Montcalm hur- 
ried his troops to the Beauport shore to meet the at- 
tack he expected there. While the sailors were ex- 
pending the King’s powder and ball at a tremendous 
rate, we waited till turn of tide, and at two o’clock in 
the morning I saw two lanterns go up to the maintop 
of the flagship. Then we climbed into our boats and 
embarked on our perilous venture. Down the broad 
river we went, a silent procession. The stars were 
out, but the shores were in gloom. 

The great river flowed on like the tide of the sea, 
the stillness broken only by the lap of its waters and 
the splashing of our oars. * As the man next to me 
lifted his oar the water fell off it in huge scales of 
molten silver. 

“ Surely the French spies are abroad and are watch- 
ing our movements,” I said to Zeb, who sat in our 
boat. 

“ Guess they are,” he replied, “ but they don’t know 
what kind of a fox chase we are on. They’ll have to 
keep on watchin’.” 

We swung steadily on. My mind went back to 
Ticonderoga. But our advance was very different 
now. Then it was in broad daylight amid the crash 
of bands, and with the sunlight gleaming on sword 
and bayonet; now it was in the darkness and silence 
of the night. In which would we fare better? 

We came presently to mighty cliffs which flung 
their black shadows far over us. 

“ Qui vivef ” called a French sentry. He was in- 
visible, but his voice, sharp and clear, cut through the 
darkness. 

“ France,” answered a Highland officer in the boat 
just ahead of us. 

“A quel regiment?” called the sentry. 

“ De la Reine” called back the Highlander. 


ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. 305 

The Frenchman believing us friends, and worn 
perhaps with long watching, asked no more, and we 
passed on. He had been a voice only and not a form 
to us. Doubtless nobody will ever know who he was. 
The steady splash of our oars continued in the dark- 
ness. Looking back, I could trace the long line of 
boats for a distance, and then the end of it was lost in 
the dusk. 

Again we were challenged by a French sentry, and 
again with ready answer we passed as Frenchmen. 
It was a kindly darkness that night, hiding our scarlet 
coats. 

We rounded a headland and disembarked upon a 
strip of sand with as little noise as many men can 
make. Above us lowered the black cliffs, steep, but 
not too steep for agile men to climb, though the French 
never thought of an army coming up there, nor the 
English either until the last hour. 

A call was made for volunteers, active men to lead 
the way up the cliffs into the blackness beyond. Zeb 
and I pressed forward, and a smart bunch of us, a 
score or more, began the steep and rough ascent. It 
was a task of honor, but not of ease. Bruises were 
plentiful, and we swore under our breath. We grasped 
at anything that could give support — bushes, briers, 
stones — and pulled ourselves up with slowness and 
pain. Above us we could see nothing but the cliff 
head, and we did not know what was waiting for us 
on the summit. The French might be there, ready to 
blow us with a storm of bullets back to the bottom, 
but that was one of the risks we had to take, though 
I will admit that it gave large and unpleasant liberties 
to the imagination. 

Thus the night scramble proceeded. I looked back 
and saw the uniforms of the men behind me showing 
through the darkness like a huge red smudge. There 


30 6 A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 

was a thump, and somebody cried, “The French!” 
But it was only a stone that an incautious soldier had 
set rolling. It continued to roll until it passed out 
of hearing, and for aught I know rolled on until it 
found the bottom of the river. 

“ If a little stone stirs us up like that, what would 
the whole French army do?” said Zeb. 

“ Let’s not discuss what we don’t wish to see just 
yet,” I replied. 

“ I think I see the top of this pesky cliff,” rejoined 
Zeb, “ an’ darned glad I’ll be when we get there.” 

I expected momentarily to hear shots from above, 
but there was none. Only the exclamations and the 
scraping noises made by climbing men came to us. 
At last I seized a projecting stone and drew myself 
up the last foot of the steep. Zeb and I and two or 
three others stood together upon the summit of the 
cliff. 

“I guess we’re first up,” said the lad; “but here 
are the boys cornin’ huddlin’ after us.” 

Up they came, and the cliff soon had a red fringe 
where the little vanguard gathered. 

In the faint light we saw a cluster of tents but a 
short distance away. We made a rush for them, and 
three or four scattering shots were fired at us. We 
saw some men springing out of the tents looking in 
the gloom like gigantic jumping jacks. Somebody 
fired at one of the leaping figures and put a bullet 
through his heel and an end to his flight at the same 
time. He lay upon the ground groaning as much with 
fright as with pain, and when we came up to him we 
found it was Vergor, the commander of the post, who 
had been sleeping calmly in his tent when he should 
have been watching for us. We took some of his men, 
but the others fled so fast that we could not have 
caught them unless we had been winged. 


ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. S°7 

Our shots were the happy signal to those below that 
the summit was ours, and directly the big red smudge 
of the red-breasted army climbing after us appeared 
on the edge of the cliff. I saw General Wolfe himself, 
and was near enough to mark the eager and joyful 
flush on his worn face. Presently we heard the boom 
of the cannon off Samos way. The French had found 
at last that the boats passing down the river in the 
darkness did not contain friends, and they opened 
fire upon the rear of the long file. But it was too late; 
the men from the other end of that file were on the 
heights, and despite cannon fire and the precautions of 
the awakened French they were surely drawing the 
others up the heights after them. Some of our men 
were detailed to seize the nearest batteries, but I had 
no part in such expeditions. I remained with the 
steadily increasing army gathering in line of battle 
on the heights. Zeb had gone prowling off toward 
Quebec, and I had to do only that waiting which is 
so large a part of a soldier’s work. 

It was not yet day, and we who stood on the heights 
knew very little of what was passing. We could hear 
the distant cannon shots and the whispered words of 
each other, but neither told us anything. We could 
tell by the deepening hum and murmur that the num- 
bers of our army on the heights were increasing, but 
what the French were preparing for us we could not 
say. We had performed one great feat and were ex- 
ultant over it, but I confess that I was not sanguine 
even yet as to the chief event. I had seen two brave 
armies beaten by rashness and ill-judged attacks, and 
only by waiting could I know whether I was to see a 
third meet the same fate. 

I strained my eyes in the direction of Quebec, but 
could see nothing. I tried to draw some sign from 
the distant cannon shots, but remained in the same 


308 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


ignorance. A ghostly figure seemed to rise out of the 
ground at my feet, and Zeb Crane stood beside me. 

“ What have you learned, what do you know, 
Zeb?” I asked eagerly. 

“ Nothin’ except what’s good,” he .replied. “ A 
peasant told me that Montcalm was still looking for 
us on the other side of the town.” 

Then he was gone to make his report to a colonel, 
and we continued to wait for the lazy day which to 
most of us seemed to linger as if it would never come. 
But come it did at last, though it was gray with clouds, 
gloomy, and threatening. 

We were chill from the night and the damp of a 
cloudy morning, and the cheerless sight of a gray 
plain struck into the bone. The rising dawn revealed 
no enemies, but presently a body of Canadians came 
out of the town and moved along the strand to our 
landing place. They were soon driven back, but the 
spatter of the musketry and the shouts cleared our 
brains and stirred our blood until we felt like good 
men again. 

Presently we marched in files to the Plains of Abra- 
ham, formed in line of battle there with our faces to 
Quebec, and waited for M. Montcalm to come and 
drive us off his doorstep if he could. 

At Ticonderoga and Montmorency it was we who 
made the rush and the French who waited for us; 
here it was we who waited. 

Quebec was but a mile away, but still we could 
not see it. A third of that distance from us a broken 
ridge cut the line of vision and like a defiant wall shut 
off Quebec from us. I think most of us spent our time 
staring at the ugly ridge and cursing it for getting in 
the way. I saw an old fellow dressed like a Canadian 
peasant appear on a hillock and gaze at us for a minute 
as if we were some huge and curious beast. Then he 


ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. 309 

scuttled away to escape our skirmishers, and we did 
not see him again. The next moment, and before the 
other divisions could come up, we saw many white 
uniforms on the ridge, and I was certain then that the 
French army was coming at last to take breakfast with 
us. Nor was I wrong, for soon Montcalm came in 
tumult, in haste, and in disorder as if surprised, as 
in truth he and his men were. 

In our rear we heard the fire of the skirmishers, but 
in front we made no movement, content to hold for 
the present the ground we occupied and see what M. 
le Marquis intended to do about it. But we did not 
remain quiet. While the French were gathering on the 
ridge and making their preparations, the Highlanders 
were waving their tartans and playing their strange, 
fearful music on the bagpipes. I do not think there 
is much music in it, but it goes well with the firing of 
guns and is suited to the expression of defiance. Cer- 
tainly it inspired us, and our confidence grew. 

Presently we had more than noise and the sight 
of white French uniforms. The bullets began to knock 
up dust, and then to smash through redcoats and draw 
redder blood. One man fell and then another and an- 
other, and thus the roll continued, but we had to stand 
there, a huge red target for the sharpshooters, and no 
man knew that*he would not be next. The fierce spat- 
ter of the rifle fire seemed to ring us around. White 
puffs of smoke rose from a field of yellow corn where 
the Canadian and Indian sharpshooters lay. I fell to 
counting those puffs, but soon they grew too numer- 
ous for me and I gave it up. Then three cannon 
opened on us and made a great noise, though their 
sting was not any worse than that of the rifles. The 
sharpshooters in the cornfield were re-enforced by 
others, and they lay behind every bush or hillock or 
stone that would give a man’s body shelter. The army 


3io 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


was bleeding fast, and it was no wonder it writhed 
about a little and wanted to bite back. 

This lasted a long time — very long it must have 
seemed to some — and we had no choice but to endure 
it while we waited for M. Montcalm to give us open 
battle. Sometimes light showers of rain fell, but they 
were welcome to us, cooling our faces and settling 
the dust kicked up by many men. Two hours before 
noon the French came down in full force to attack us.* 
They outnumbered us, but when I saw their tumultuous 
array I knew enough of war to feel sure that we would 
win. Order beats disorder. The French and Cana- 
dian veterans of many victories were there, but they 
were not fighting behind felled trees and earthworks 
now. 

We went forward a little as if to welcome them, 
and they stopped quite still. The French came on 
with a gay air, shouting for France, their King, and 
their general, as is their wont. I saw a man in brilliant 
uniform on a black horse encouraging them, and I 
recognized Montcalm. But my eyes passed on to 
dwell longer on another figure as resplendently clad, 
but larger and more striking. It was the Seigneur 
de St. Maur. He, too, was on horseback leading on 
the Frenchmen. I had wished that he would not be 
there, but I knew that he would be. 

The fire, still chiefly from the French, had grown 
very heavy, and the blaze of exploding gunpowder ran 
in streaks across the plain. But on our side it was 


* “ Waiting no longer for more troops, Montcalm led the French 
army impetuously to the attack. The ill-disciplined companies broke 
by their precipitation and the unevenness of the ground, and fired by 
platoons without unity. Their adversaries, especially the Forty-third 
and Forty-seventh, where Monckton stood, of which three men out of 
four were Americans, received the shock with calmness.” — Bancroft, 
vol. iii, page 244, Little, Brown & Co.’s revised edition of 1879. 


ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. 3 1 1 

only our skirmishers who were busy. In the solid 
red ranks the men, musket in hand, were waiting for 
the word of command. It did not come until the 
French were forty paces away, and then our line fired, 
all so close together that I heard but one explosion. 
It was a volley that scorched the Frenchman’s whiskers 
and took most of the gayety out of him. The whole 
French army staggered, the men behind us gave it 
another volley, and those who could reload followed it 
up with a fire as destructive as it was rapid. The smoke 
grew so dense that the French army was hid, and as 
if by preconcerted action our men stopped firing for 
a minute. The cloud of smoke rose up from the earth 
and left there a mass of dead and wounded men and 
horses and guns and sabers, dropped from the hands 
of their owners. The French army, thrown back, hesi- 
tated and lost cohesion. The officers were shouting 
and cursing and trying to bring the men up to the 
charge. The seigneur himself on foot, his horse slain, 
gesticulated with his bare sword. 

Every man in our army who had eyes must have 
seen the opportunity, for by a common impulse we 
rushed upon the French in their disorder, the High- 
landers drawing their swords and yelling in a manner 
only less fearful than the shriek of their bagpipes, the 
rest of us cheering, some firing, and others presenting 
the bayonet. 

We struck the French and in their disorder they 
were not fit to withstand such a red avalanche. Their 
ill-formed lines were smashed in, and on we went, 
over the wounded and the dead, sweeping everything 
in a wild rout before us. Montcalm, still on horseback, 
was carried in the blood-stained mob. I saw the sei- 
gr eur brandishing his sword as if he had no other busi- 
ness in life, and tears were running down his face. 
T hen I lost sight of him. 


312 


A SOLDIER OF MANHATTAN. 


We pressed on after this army, turned rabble, 
though the sharpshooters in the cornfield and the 
bushes still scorched our flanks. I heard a cry that 
the general was killed, and I saw two officers carrying 
him away in their arms. At another time it might 
have stopped us, but not then; the men saw their flee- 
ing enemy, and we were in the flush of triumph. We 
rushed on, an invincible line, driving the French be- 
fore us. 

My head was clearer than ever before in battle. 
I looked again for the seigneur, but did not see him. 
I remembered to look also for my good friend Devi- 
zac, who I was sure would be there, but I missed him 
too. I saw Montcalm on his horse still trying to rally 
his army, but when the French mass, from which 
came many shouts and a straggling fire, was pressed 
back against the St. Louis gate, he reeled in his saddle. 
Two soldiers rushed forward, supported him on either 
side, and thus, a melancholy procession, they passed 
through the gate. 

We were recalled to encamp upon the field of our 
victory and mourn the gallant men who had fallen, 
and who, alas! with our general in chief at their head, 
were too numerous. Scattered fighting still went on, 
but the bulk of us were busy with the spade making 
good our hold upon the ground we had won. 

Oppressed as I was with anxiety for my friends 
in Quebec, I was worn too with work, the battle, and 
long waiting, and when night came I fell asleep at 
the first opportunity, and never slept more soundly in 
my life. In the chilly dawn Culverhouse pulled me 
out of the trench which was my bed aiid shook me 
violently. 

“Wake up!” he said. “You can’t sleep forever. 
A friend of yours and mine, too, that wild boy, is here 
to see you.” 


ON THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. 3 1 3 

I opened my sleepy eyes and saw Zeb Crane. He 
had been in and out of Quebec again, and he said that 
the trip was easy in the confusion prevailing after the 
battle. 

“ Will they come out and fight us again? ” I asked, 
for I knew the French were yet more numerous than 
the army that we had gathered on the Plains of Abra- 
ham. 

“ Hardly,” said Zeb scornfully. “ The French are 
stampeded like a herd of deer with the wolves after 
’em. Nearly all their army has left Quebec an’ is run- 
nin’ full tilt for Montreal, with the governor himself 
leadin’ ’em.” 

This was great news, and to my mind insured the 
fall of Quebec, which, in truth, turned out to be a 
fact. 

“ Has the Seigneur de St. Maur gone too,” I asked, 
“ or did he fall in the battle? ” 

“ Neither,” replied Zeb. “ He wasn’t hurt, and he’s 
stayed with a few French to help hold the town against 
us if they can.” 

Then he added that Montcalm was dying of his 
wound, and the news came to us soon that he was 
dead. It is now an old tale to all the world how the 
two great commanders fell in this decisive battle, the 
one in victory and the other in defeat. 

I mourned them both. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


THE WILL OF GOD. 

Montcalm slain and nearly all their army fled, the 
governor at its head, the French had little heart to 
make further defense of Quebec. We waited a few 
days to see what they would do, meanwhile strengthen- 
ing our positions and bringing more and heavier artil- 
lery to batter down the walls if the job were forced 
upon us. We heard that there was great disquiet with- 
in the town, that a few veterans, abandoned though 
they were by their comrades, wished to fight it out to 
the last and perish under the ruins of the city. But 
the majority who were not of quite such Spartan mold 
prevailed, and in a few days they came out to us with 
a white flag. Devizac was one of those who came, and 
I was rejoiced to find him unwounded, though he was 
mightily cast down over the death of his commander 
and the great fall of the French. 

“ I have no spirit for the fighting,” he said to me, 
“ now that our cause in America is lost.” 

“ Be of good cheer, Devizac,” I said. “ It is not 
your fault nor that of any Frenchman here. You will 
yet be winning laurels on European fields.” 

As in truth he did. 

Then I came to the question which was nearest 
to my heart. 

“ The Seigneur de St. Maur and his daughter, 
Devizac?” I asked. “What has become of them?” 
314 


THE WILL OF GOD. 


315 


“ They are at the chateau ,” he said. “ The seigneur 
wept at the death of Montcalm, cursed at the flight of 
the governor, and is now preparing himself as best he 
can to receive the conquerors. I suggest that you go 
to the chateau and receive their surrender.” 

The suggestion seemed good. 

When the city was given up to us I went in at the 
St. Louis gate, through which they had taken the 
dying Montcalm. The Canadians bestowed few wel- 
come glances upon us, though I heard that there were 
many who were glad the war bade fair now to end, 
even at such a cost, for it was draining their life blood 
away. Everybody knows how scanty they were in 
numbers as compared with us. 

I went directly to the Chateau de St. Maur, which 
looked as quiet as a church. I pushed open the doors 
unbidden and entered. 

In the center of the hall stood the seigneur, a 
figure of great dignity. He was clothed in the full 
military uniform, and held his sword in his hand. 
All his medals and decorations were upon his 
breast. As I approached he extended the weapon 
to me. 

“ Receive my sword, monsieur,” he said. “ The 
omen did not fail. When you beat me at the sword 
play, Canada was lost; what is, is; and we will even 
accept fate like brave men.” 

“And Father Michel?” I asked. 

“ He is in his room, praying for the long life and 
happiness of his liege, the British King.” 

“ And Mile. Louise, your daughter? ” 

“ She is in her room, praying for the souls of the 
slain.” 

I found her a little later, and the lilies of France 
were still on her shoulder. But there was a flush upon 
her cheek which was not all of sorrow. 


21 


316 a soldier of Manhattan. 

“ Louise,” I said, taking her hands. “ The France 
of the New World is at an end. You are my captive, 
and for life.” 

She looked at me, her eyes shining, and said: 

“ If it be the will of God ” 

It was the will of God. 


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\ HE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. Being the 

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“Mr. Gilbert Parker is to be congratulated on the excellence of his latest story. 
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cloth, $1.00. 


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HE REDS OF THE MIDI. An Episode of the 

French Revolution. By Felix Gras. Translated from the, 


Provencal by Mrs. Catharine A. Janvier. With an Intro 
duction by Thomas A. Janvier. With Frontispiece. i2mo. 
Cloth, $1.50. 


"It is doubtful whether in the English language we have had a more powerful, 
impressive, artistic picture of the French Revolution, from the revolutionist’s point of 
view, than that presented in Felix Gras’s ‘The Reds of the Midi.’ . . . Adventures 
follow one another rapidly ; splendid, brilliant pictures are frequent, and the thread of 
a tender, beautiful love story winds in and out of its pages.” — New York Mail and 
Express. 

“ ‘ The Reds of the Midi ’ is a red rose from Provence, a breath of pure air in 
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md directness; it is warm and pulsating, and fairly trembles with excitement.” — 
Chicago Record. 

“To the names of Dickens, Hugo, and Erckmann-Chatrian must be added that of 
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possessing historical interest, but charming as a story. A delightful piece of literature, 
of a rare and exquisite flavor.” — Buffalo Express. 

"No more forcible presentation of the wrongs which the poorer classes suffered in 
France at the end of the eighteenth century has ever been put between the covers of 
a book.” — Boston Budgei. 

"Every page is alive with incidents or scenes of the time, and any one who reads 
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" The author has a rare power of presenting vivid and lifelike pictures. He is a 
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“ Of ‘ The Reds of theMidi ’ itself it is safe to predict that the stoty will become one 
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ters are living, stirring, palpitating human beings, who will glow in the reader’s memory 
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London Daily Mail. 

"A delightful romance. . . . The story is not only historically accurate; it is one 
■J continuous and vivid interest.” — Philadelphia Press. 

" Simply enthralling. . . . The narrative abounds in vivid descriptions of stirring 
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Dumas, with something more than Dumas’s faculty for dramatic compression.” — 
Boston Beacon. 

"A charmingly told story, and all the more delightful because of the unstudied 
simplicity of the spokesman, Pascalefc F61ix Gras is a true artist, and he has pleaded 
the cause of a hated people with the tact and skill that only an artist could employ.”— 
Chicago Evening Post. 

" Much excellent revolutionary fiction in many languages has been written since 
the announcement of the expiration of 1889 , or rather since the contemporary publica- 
tion of old war records newly discovered, but there is none more vivid than this story 
of men of the south, written by one of their own blood.” — Boston Herald. 


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r'LEG KELLY, \ ARAB OF THE CITY.' Bis 

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HE LILAC SUNBONNET. Eighth edition. 

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“ In its own line this little love story can hardly be excelled. It is a pastoral, an 
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Romance of the Empire . 


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“ From the opening pages the clear and energetic telling of the story never falters 
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J^ODNEY S TONE. Illustrated. 

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* Micah Clarke,' and other notable romances.” — London Daily News . , 

“ A notable and very brilliant work of genius.” — London Speaker. 

“ ‘ Rodney Stone ’ is, in our judgment, distinctly the best of Dr. Conan Doyle’s 
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Brighton road.” — London Times. 



HE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD . 

A Romance of the Life of a Typical Napoleonic Soldier. Illus- 
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“ May be set down without reservation as the most thoroughly enjoyable book that 
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HE STARK MUNRO LETTERS. Being a 

Series of Twelve Letters written by Stark Munro, M. B., 
to his friend and former fellow-student, hlerbert Swanborough, 
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OUND THE RED LAMP. 

Fancies of Medical Life. 


Being Facts and 


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ford Times. 

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HE STORY OF THE INDIAN. By 

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George 

” “ Black- 


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HE STORY OF THE MINE. By Charles 

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“Both a history and a romance. . . . Highly interesting, new, and thrilling.”— 
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IN PREPARATION. 

The Story of the Trapper. By Gilbert Parker. 

The Story of the Cowboy. By E. Hough. 

The Story of the Soldier. By Capt. J. McB. Stembel, U. S. A. 
The Story of the Explorer. 

The Story of the Railroad. 


New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 


A Great Work. 

peter the Great. . . 

By K. Waliszewski, author of “The 
Romance of an Empress” ( Catharine 
II of Russia). Translated by Lady 
Mary Loyd 

Small 8 vo. Cloth, with. Portrait, $2.00. . . . 


“ One of the most interesting biographies of the historical kind we have read for 
a long time. . . , Intensely interesting because absolutely unique.” — London Daily 

C/it onicle. 

‘ 1 A brilliant book, a profound study of human character, and a dispassionate and 
learned survey of modern Russian history. ... A strange, a terrible story ; fasci- 
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“ If ever there was a man of genius it was Peter the Great. He is the one Rus- 
sian of his time whose name has come down through the centuries, and he was 
almost the only Russian of his day who w T on an international reputation. Russia 
in those days stood in need of a man like him, and how well he seived her is fully 
told in this book. . . . The cardinal merit of this book is that it increases our 
knowledge of mediaeval Russia. ” — New York Herald . 

“ M. Waliszewski knows his subject well, and in his work he gives the most con- 
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any of the modern historians.” — Chicago Evening Post. 

j “A biography illuminated by an active imagination, a romance in which there 
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Tim es- Her aid. 

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For sale by all booksellers ; or will be sent by mail on receipt of price by the publishers, 

1 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 72 Fifth Ave., New York. 


“ The Story of the Year. . . . 


HALL CAINE’S 
NEW ROMANCE. 


A Finished Work of Art.” 


The Christian. 

By HALL CAINE, 

Author of 

44 The Manxman/' 44 The Deemster/' u The Bondman/' etc* 
12 mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


THIRD EDITION. 


“The public is hardly prepared for so remarkable a performance as 4 The Chris- 
tian.’ . . . A permanent addition to English literature. . . . Above and beyond any 
popularity that is merely temporary.” — Boston Herald. 

“ Of powerful and absorbing interest. The reader is irresistibly fascinated from 
the very beginning. ... A remarkable book . ” - —Philadelphia Press. 

“ Must be regarded as the greatest work that has yet come from the pen of this 
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ten persons visiting a public library would call for Hall Caine’s 1 The Christian.’ It 
is by long odds the most powerful production of his very productive pen, and it v ill 
live and be read and reread when ninety per cent of the books of to-dav are f. >r- 
gotten.” — Boston Dally Globe.’ 

“ The best story Hall Caine has written. It is one of the best stories that have 
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has been written during the past twelve months. ... A masterpiece in fiction ” — 
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als. — Chicago Evening Post. 

“Though the theme is old, Mr. Caine has worked it up with a passion and 
power that make it new again. ... Can not fail to thrill even the most careless 
reader. —New York Herald. 

The Christian is one of the strongest novels of the year, and is in some re;- 
spects the greatest work this author has yet produced.”— /V«7a. Evening Telegraph) 

The Christian ’ is really a great novel . . . John Storm is one of the nobles’ 
figures m modern literature, and the setting of this gem is worthy of its character.’ 
— Toronto Mail and Empire . 


For sale by all booksellers ; or will be sent by mail on receipt of price by the Publishers , 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 72 Fifth Ave., New York. 






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